


How to Date an Angel in 12 Easy Steps

by fourthduckling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Comedy, F/M, Future Fic, Humor, Identity Issues, M/M, Mild Horror, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthduckling/pseuds/fourthduckling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that hard to date an angel. All Dean has to do is fight off hordes of vampires, research gay porn, get sucked into a crappy Narnia, endure Sam's comments, creep out on Dr. Sexy, get harassed -- oh, and that's right-- figure out he's into Cas. Easy, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Find out you're about as straight as a paperclip.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to TaraFarrago for being my Dean-esque beta. I'm sorry about the multiple inaccuracies regarding sprinklers.
> 
> EDIT: Now in Russian! http://ficbook.net/readfic/1064318

**1\. Find out you're about as straight as a paperclip.**

 

"I can't believe we survived that," Dean croaks, wavering unsteadily on his feet. The enormity of what just happened hits him like a semi. He turns to Castiel, who is frowning down at the splashes of blood on his coat. Something big and warm fills up in the heart Famine told him he didn't have, and he envelops the angel in a tight hug of gratitude for saving their bacon.  
  
It's funny how little decisions can change things in big ways. With his arms around Cas, and the angel's hands pressed against his back, Dean suddenly feels-- well maybe not _happy_ , but _good_. Over metallic blood, he can detect the typical angelic ozone scent. There's also a faint whiff of soap, though Dean has no idea when (or why) he would have bathed. It's strange to have a rough-shaven cheek next to his ear, but it's nice. Really, _really_ nice. It's less like hugging Sam, and more like hugging Lisa. Huh. By the time he releases his friend, he's wondering why he'd never done this before.  
  
Castiel looks embarrassed. A soft smile that makes him seem far younger than his thousands of years pulls at his mouth. "I thought you might need some help," the angel says.  
  
Dean thinks, in this moment, that he wants to kiss Castiel, too.  
  
The thought terrifies him more than a room full of a hundred and fifty vampires.  
  
That's how it starts.  
  
Well, okay, that wasn't the real start. It actually starts with Daywalkers and evil virgins and the Winchesters making the stupid mistake of believing they have everything planned out. At least, that's what Dean thinks of as the beginning. Castiel would trace everything back to the creation of life, but he's wrong because, come on, do you really need to know about billions of years of evolution just to get down to a clumsy attempt at romance?  
  
Yeah, thought not.  
  
So (according to Dean) it _really_ starts like this:  
 ****  
"Well, all I can find here is that it's called the Unholy Grail," Sam says, hunched over his laptop and scrolling through a demonic Wikipedia page. DemonWiki. At least it's to the point. Can't fault someone for being direct. "It's said to be blessed with the blood of a thousand evil virgins?" He sits back and squints at the ceiling. "That can't be right. Can you be an evil virgin?"  
  
"Yeah," says Dean from where he's sitting cleaning his favorite handgun. "I'll bet you fifty bucks Lucifer never got laid."  
  
Sam gets an uncomfortable look on his face and sort of squishes down into his seat. "Actually," he begins, but stops and coughs.  
  
Dean glares at him, hand raised in the universal gesture of shut-the-fuck-up. "You know what, Sammy? I've just decided I don't wanna know."  
  
"Anyway, the vampires want it because if they drink blood out of the grail it'll-- _supposedly_ \-- make them able to go out in sunlight without any problems." Sam sighs and turns to look at his brother. "Daywalkers."  
  
And wouldn't that just be fantastic.  
  
So they have to get the cup.  
  
To do that, they'll have to face a horde of vampires holed up in an old school building outside of Savannah. Actually there's only twenty by Sam's count. But that's still a lot when it comes to non-sparkling blood-drinking needle-toothed sonsabitches. Soulless Sam and Vampire Dean might have been able to take down that many, but regular Sam and normal Dean need to rely on something else: a shower of dead man's blood triggered by a fire alarm. It was going to take some plumbing work, but fortunately they'd helped Bobby install a similar system in his house a few months previous. Everything's perfectly planned.  
  
It doesn't work.  
  
Okay, it does work, but it's entirely by accident.  
  
The first part goes well. Sam poses as a mortician and manages to secure a ridiculous quantity of dead man's blood, and they break into the pipes nearby that supply the school with water.  
  
"This whole plan makes me feel like John Constantine," Sam says. "Maybe we could just consecrate the water."  
  
"Keanu Reeves is a douchebag," Dean hisses, wrenching the last bolt into place, "so we _aren't going to_." To be fair, Dean had actually liked the  _Constantine_ movie until he met Cas. Then he always had the creepy feeling that Keanu Reeves was playing his best friend. Also, he had become a fan of the comics. "We're being Tony Stark." Feeling generous, he adds, "And the Hulk." He flips the wrench up into his hand and winks at Sam before fishing his lighter and a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket. "Ready?"  
  
Sam cocks his shotgun and nods.  
  
They choose the early afternoon to attack, as they figure most of the vampires would be asleep then. Of course the vampires have the whole building blocked off from sunlight, but Sam and Dean plan on knocking in a few of the boarded up windows. There's no knowing where the cup is and the only thing they can do is hope that their weapons will fill in the gap between what sunlight and dead man's blood can do. It's a dangerous plan, but this time they're prepared.  
  
They don't kick the door in because while that would be badass, it's probably a good idea not to let the vampires know they're coming. They go in the back way because they think it's less likely that someone's guarding the back way. They're wrong of course, but it doesn't matter, because there's a smoke detector right over their heads, and a sprinkler over the heads of the two vampire guards.  
  
So Dean feels just as awesome as it's possible to feel when he flicks open his lighter and sets the paper on fire. "Hey," he says with a cocky-ass grin, holding the smoking paper up under the sensor.  
  
Both guards are hit full in the face with the blood. Somehow the Winchesters are geniuses and the amount of blood manages to paralyze both guards. Sam knocks in two of the window coverings, letting light flood through the hallway.  
  
"To the right, then up the stairs," Sam says and Dean pulls his pistol from his waistband. They make their way up the stairs. It's likely that the vampires are keeping the cup in a larger room for some kind of ceremony, so they figure the gym will be the likeliest place to find it. Upstairs, then. At this point, having seen the success of the dead man's blood, they figure it's going to be easy. So when they finish the climb, they're surprised to see two sprinklers, no blood, and a pretty brunette vampire with a shotgun pointed straight at them.  
  
This is when things start to go wrong.  
  
Blood, unlike water, coagulates. Dead man's blood is great for painting across doors, but if harvested from a corpse recently, it develops clots far too quickly for use in a sprinkler system.  
  
Also, it's not a terribly effective weapon against vampires with _guns_.  
  
She fires once and both brothers duck quickly around a corner. This is when one of the sprinklers starts working. It hits nowhere near the vampire, but it does spray the hallway between the Winchesters and her. Unfortunately, this is also the only route to the gym.  
  
Sam sheds his jacket and uses it as an impromptu head covering. Lifting his shotgun, he charges directly into the spray. He half slides down the tile hallway, slipping and almost falling at least twice while getting in a good shot that takes the vampire right in her chest. She shakes it off and fires back. The sound echoes down the hallway and Dean cringes, following close on his brother's heel and trying to avoid as much blood as possible. He gets off a couple of shots, but one only hits the vampire's left arm. It seems like an uphill battle for Sam to separate her head from shoulders until he trips her backwards into the sprinkler's reach. This time, Sam's able to easily hack through her neck.  
  
They stop, breathing heavily, Sam coated from head to toe in blood. Dean doesn't even try to hide his grin. "Nice look on you, Carrie, let's go get--" Dean begins, but ends up with a mouth full of dead man's blood as the second sprinkler unclogs over their heads. It's patently unfair of Sam to start laughing now, but he does.  
  
A second vampire that neither of them saw coming whips around the corner and catches Dean in the jaw with her crowbar-heavy punch.He hears a crack and hopes to god that his jaw can hold together long enough for him to complete the mission. Sam shoots her in the shoulder and Dean follows up with a shot to her leg. She stumbles back into the blood and seems to be out for the count. Dean goes in to cut off her head but Sam grabs his arm.  
  
"Cup," he says, reaching up and wiping back some of his hair. Dean nods and spits, trying to get the taste of blood out of his mouth.  
  
They slip down the hallway, guns out and ready in case of any more surprise attacks. Fortunately, the rest of the vampires seem to be sleeping or incapacitated by blood elsewhere. Sam flings open the doors to the gym, intent on grabbing the Unholy Grail and running out of there as fast as he can.  
  
Yeah, so, _someone_ can't count. There are about a hundred and fifty vampires in this room. Also, zero sprinklers.  
  
"So, uh... bathroom this way?" Dean says weakly as all one hundred and fifty freaks of nature turn, baring sharp teeth and snarling.  
  
They're going to die.  
  
This is when it happens:  
  
Sam is out front, a snarling wave of vamps running headlong at him. They can take out three, maybe four, but this is it. Dean tilts his gun at the leader, planning to go down fighting, but there's a sudden prickling at the hairs on his neck and he realizes there's another vampire right behind him. He turns, and it's like the movies. Slow motion, smooth edges and he could almost hear the epic build of music. He's died before, remembers dying, and he knows, as he turns, that he's going to die again. The only thing he can think is that he has to get this shot off.  
  
So he does. The bullet goes through the vamp who was about to sink his teeth into Dean's shoulder.  
  
 But it goes through Castiel first.  
  
The angel rips the vampire's head from his shoulders, his eyes still wide in disbelief. It's done in an instant and then Cas is on the other side of the room going from vamp to vamp, smiting and avenging like there's no tomorrow. It's wholesale slaughter angel style, and no one stands a chance against him. It's kind of like watching an action movie that you didn't know was gonna be that goddamn awesome.  
  
It's funny, Dean thinks, as he shoots a pretty little child vampire, but Cas doesn't even bother dragging out his angel sword. It might have helped, but Cas seems to want to burn and tear. When he's in the middle of the room, he shouts, "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" and even through his eyelids, Dean can see the flare of Castiel's angelic form turning his vision red.  
  
In less than a moment, it's over. Dean opens his eyes to see bodies and scorch marks all over the gym and no one moving but his brother who grabs the Unholy Grail from a makeshift altar.  
  
Castiel picks his way over the fallen vampires to Dean's side, lifting the edges of his trench coat as if afraid to soil it on the bodies. This is, of course, stupid, as his trench coat is as invulnerable as the rest of him.  
  
"I got it!" This, from Sam, who flops down on his back, holding the cup aloft. "I GOT IT!" He shouts again, louder this time, laughing hysterically. He's covered in blood and bruised from head to toe. The Unholy Grail itself looks clean. It's pretty unassuming for something that could destroy a huge chunk of the population.  
  
This is when Dean hugs Cas-- actually really hugs him-- for the first time. This is when Castiel hugs Dean back. This is when everything starts.  
  
Because this is when Dean realizes he's probably a little bit gay.


	2. Research: Dean Winchester vs Google

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean does what his brother does best: Research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, TaraFarrago. It doesn't sound as good without your edits.

**2\. Research: Dean Winchester vs Google**  
Dean successfully ignores it for two months. That's probably some kind of record, and he wants an award for it.  
  
It was just a thought, after all. This is what Dean tells himself after he wakes up from a horrible dream where his face was being stroked with dark angel wings. Well, it's not like you can control your dreams, right? Right. That's not the problem. The problem is that his stupid body betrays him into thinking that dream was good.  
  
And right after that-- which is totally underhanded of the universe-- Dean sees something he should never have seen.  
  
A porno mag for gay men.  
  
So he knows they exist, right? But he's never actually looked at the covers other than letting his gaze slide on past in search of the old familiar _Busty Asian Beauties_ and the more exotic _Tassels and Fringe_ (imported directly from England). This time, however, his eyes happen to light on a familiar face.  
  
Dean is good at stifling his exclamations. Years of hunting things that would jump you for a sigh had made him silent. But his eyes go wide and he suddenly feels very, very exposed. Because the cover of one of the magazines has Dr. Sexy. Not only is he wearing his trademark sexy cowboy boots, he is also in a trenchcoat. A tan trenchcoat. And Dean is pretty sure he's naked underneath.  
  
Jesus Skateboarding Christ.  
  
Dean stares at it for exactly twelve and a half seconds before covering it up with an issue of _Maxim_ in case his brain explodes. But it's like he's Superman. Suddenly he's got X-ray vision and he can _still see Dr. Sexy_. That's the worst superpower ever. To be able to see gay magazines hiding behind innocent girly rags is worse than being that douchebag Reed Richards. He's standing there, still looking at the busty blonde on the cover when a hand falls on his shoulder.  
  
"Dean. Stop. We're in a store." Sam says flatly. "If you want it, just get it." He gestures at Dean's crotch. "And you can do _that_ later."  
  
Dean looks down.  
  
And curses.  
  
All right, all right. So his brain and his body are both insane. He'd kill them both if he could. And Sam.  
  
And then? You know what happens next? Because the universe has proved itself to be a smug bastard, Dean can't _stop_ thinking about it. He gets in the car and thinks about Dr. Sexy's stubbly jaw against his own. He goes to get a burger, and he thinks of Dr. Sexy's boots by his bed while sensitive surgeon's hands tangle in his hair. He shoots a ghost, and he thinks of that trenchcoat. When he finally lies down to sleep, he wonders where Cas is and if he's ever worn cowboy boots.  
  
It's like a disease.  
  
So Dean, being reasonable, decides to cure himself. Maybe if Dr. Sexy's coat had been open, his stupid brain wouldn't have been tantalized by the possibilities. After all, Dean is practical about nudity. Naked girls-- good. Naked dudes-- yuck. The unknown can always be more intriguing. Maybe just seeing what's under there will cure him. So he does what he and Sam do when they can't figure out what's going on.  
  
Research.  
  
He sets up the laptop on one of those rare nights where Sam manages to land a chick and a separate hotel room.  
  
It's not that Dean can't use technology. It's that he's never paid attention long enough to learn how to use it _well_. To be fair, he learned plenty of other things (like how to MacGyver an exorcism using dental floss, two pencils, and a bottle of ketchup). But he still has to hunt and peck with skills that he taught himself in third grade. It's slow going, but he gets things done.  
  
Pretty much the only option he can think of to try is internet porn.  
  
It's not like Dean knows where to start with this, so when he searches 'guys doing it' it definitely doesn't bring up anything that he was looking for. There are pictures of everything under the sun except for actual gay men. 'Gay porn' also brings up a bunch of gay men cuddling, which makes him wanna run out of the room. The internet is pretty much an extension of hell, he's sure. 'Homosexual tax accountant nerd' (which he admits is a bit of a stretch and too close to the truth) brings up gay marriage activism sites. So yeah, Google's never really been his bitch, but usually he's able to get what he wants within a couple of pages.  
  
Oh.  
  
It takes Dean a minute to remember that he has to turn off the filter. He's angry about this. Usually that's his first step. All this stupid Dr. Sexy stuff has destroyed his brain.  
  
But what does he want to see? The cover of a magazine that he doesn't remember the title of is hardly a good search tool.  
  
This is gonna take more thought than he initially planned for. Maybe he can't find the exact picture, but there's an off chance that someone out there looks like Dr. Sexy, and he can cleanse his mind of its idiocies. He's seen enough Franjelina Golies to know that lots of people have doppelgangers in pornoworld. It's pretty much what keeps the industry alive. He feels kinda weird about it, but curiosity overcomes his trepidation.  
  
He types the following terms into the search box:  
  
 _cowboy boots  
stubble  
sexy  
naked  
_  
and as an afterthought:  
  
 _trenchcoat_  
  
Huh.  
  
So there's a whole website for that kind of thing.  
  
Apparently the magazine was _Sexy Scruffy Businessmen_ and it happens to have a vibrant online presence viewable for the low introductory price of $7.99 per month. So yeah, there's no way that Dean is going to pay to get into a site that Sam might find out about. Also, if he wants to look at naked dudes, all he's gotta do is stand in front of a mirror. So he checks out the free part of the site.  
  
This is, of course, after staring at the Dr. Sexy picture until he's too uncomfortable to bear it. But he finds something that comforts him a little. For the most part, Dean's just not that interested. There are a few guys who tweak his interest, and a lot that don't.  
  
Okay so maybe he's just a _little_ gay.  
  
Well, at least he's not angel-sexual. He doesn't even want to think about the implications of just having a thing for Cas, either. That's too disturbing for him. So being a little gay? Not so bad. Comparatively. As long as it's just a little. He still loves the ladies, and that's what counts. A passing attraction to dudes is just that. Passing. So Dean decides to go back to normal and not to let it bother him.  
  
What _does_ bother him is the sound that comes out of his own mouth when he opens a picture of a guy who looks just like Cas wearing nothing but a frown and a tie.  
  
He slams the lid of the laptop and goes to get himself a drink.  
  
It _really_ bothers him later when he has another dream of wings, this time with Dr. Sexy in between them.  
  



	3. Fail at your normal routine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to fix things by sleeping with Catwoman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, TaraFarrago, for being my beta. You saved my story from its more mediocre first draft!

**3\. Fail at your normal routine**.  
So that's the first time _that_ ' _s_ ever happened.  
  
Dean stares at the wall while the girl-- he can't even remember her name-- laces up her boots.  
  
They'd been such nice boots, too. Not cowboy boots, but those slinky sexy knee-height boots that only strippers and superheros wear. He'd liked those boots.  
  
She pauses by the door, as if waiting for him to stop her. "I'll just... let myself out."  
  
"Yeah, fine." He sits up and stares into the dark bathroom.  
  
"Asshole," he hears her mutter as she slams the door.  
  
He deserves that. He really does.  
  
He'd gone out as usual, just to prove he was still himself. Sam had given him a particularly judge-y stare when Dean demanded a separate room. But hey, this was his identity in question. He wasn't going to prove that he was still a hot blooded straight guy in a room where Sam could walk in at any moment.  
  
He'd seen a bar on the drive in. It was a shady little place with lots of bright lights. Just the way he likes it.  
  
He's lucky this time. More often than not, the kind of bars Dean frequents are filled with disillusioned middle aged men and frat boys. He refuses to let this say something about him. But this time, there are plenty of women. Maybe a ladies' night or something. Dean winks at a laughing blonde and orders himself a shot.  
  
This is his home. He's in his element here.  
  
He's put away a decent amount of alcohol when a pretty woman with dark hair settles into the seat next to him. "Hello, stranger," she says cheekily, and it's not so much her face or body that intrigues Dean as it is the huskiness of her voice. She turns to the bartender, and in the light Dean is struck by her features. She's Catwoman with black hair and red lips, kickass boots and a tight leather jacket.  
  
And Batman is gonna tap that.  
  
"Hey," Dean says and gives her his most winning grin. "Dean."  
  
"Hello, Dean." Her voice is like a purr. Or a growl. "You new here?"  
  
"Just rolled in last night." He leans closer. "So, ah-- what do people do around here for fun?"  
  
She tilts her head as if thinking about this for a minute. When she turns to face him again, he notices her eyes are an intense blue. "I don't know about everyone else, but I know something _you_ can do for fun."  
  
He knows the answer to his question even before he asks it. "And what's that?"  
  
"Me."  
  
They don't bother to drink any more, and the walk back to the hotel is almost a run. She pushes him, laughing, onto the bed before he flips her on her back and kisses her.  
  
She tastes like whiskey and smoke, feels like leather and sin.  
  
She wiggles under him, shedding as much of her clothes as she can while divesting him of his. Still half-clothed, they roll together under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Dean mouths at her neck and pushes against her, hands gripping her hips. " _Christo_ ," he murmurs just under her ear, but her eyes stay clear and she doesn't flinch. She laughs again, throwing her head back and reveling in the moment.  
  
Dean leans down and tips her face forward. Her bright blue eyes catch his, and she holds his gaze as steadily as Cas ever did.  
  
"You up for anything?" she murmurs in her husky voice, and he thinks of a barn years ago where the world's best angel spoke to him for the first time. He moves forward and catches her mouth with his own. Whiskey and smoke. "Dean..." she growls into his ear.  
  
 _Cas_ , he thinks.  
  
And suddenly, her hands are too small and her voice isn't pitched right and she's all wrong. With that realization, he pushes himself up and away.  
  
Catwoman props herself up on her elbows, looking startled. "Hey-- did I kick you?"  
  
"No, I just..." He just thinks of Cas instead. And suddenly he sees the similarities in the woman he's picked out. Dark hair, blue eyes, square jaw, and a voice that sounds like gravel under tires as you rev out of a parking lot. He thinks of Cas, thinks of Dr. Sexy, and thinks-- finally-- that Catwoman should leave.  
  
Her name was.... no, he couldn't remember. "Hey, uh... I think... sorry but I gotta call it a night."  
  
"Are you kidding me?" She sounds incredulous more than upset.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, sorry but... early morning and... you know. Stuff." Maybe he'd drunk too much. Maybe he was pushing too hard. Or maybe he's just hung up on a stupid angel. "Thanks for... uh..."  
  
When she leaves, he flops back down on the bed. For a moment, he lets his mind wander. Just for a moment, he thinks about how Cas wouldn't be pliant under him. He'd be like stone and fury, like a hurricane over a deep sea, swallowing him whole. He'd smell strongly like ozone and faintly like soap. Dean shivers and aches and then sits up.  
 _  
It's that damn soapy smell_ , he thinks furiously, and goes to take a shower.


	4. Have crisis of sexuality discovered by asshole brother.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out. Dean continues to freak. Sausages are eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TaraFarrago for the help with this chapter, too! It used to be worse!

  
**4\. Have crisis of sexuality discovered by asshole brother.**  
Dean doesn't know what to make of all of this. It's crazy, really. He's not gay, was never gay, and certainly doesn't think about Cas in that way. Except for the fact that he sort of does, but he's still pretty convinced that all of this is some kind of huge accident.  
  
He lies on his back on the bedspread, studying the ceiling while only the soft sounds of keys fill the air as Sam browses the internet.  
  
The apocalypse had sucked.  
  
The post-apocalypse had been terrible, too.  
  
Post-post-apocalypse? That had been going well. Cas came back. Sam is (so far) still in possession of his soul and (so far) not suffering side effects from remembering hell. Bobby is back, too, and seems to be completely back to normal. Well, aside from the mild hallucinations and that thing with the dogs, but that had always kind of been a problem. Things were nice. Which is exactly why Dean should have seen this coming. Things don't "go well" for the Winchesters.  
  
So being gay is kind of like the new apocalypse.  
  
Dean rubs both hands over his face.  
  
He must have rubbed too hard because the ceiling suddenly developed blue spots that swim around and then disappear. He wonders if Cas has swimmy blue spots or if that's something angels are immune to (like colds, broken bones, and feelings).  
  
This is when the clicking of Sam's fingers on the laptop keyboard stop.  
  
"Dean?" Sam's voice is a bit strangled.  
  
"What?" He doesn't move-- just stares up at the ceiling and looks for patterns that aren't really there.  
  
"Has...did anyone borrow my laptop?"  
  
"No." Dean rolls over on his side to look at his brother. "Why?"  
  
"So just me and you... we're the only people who have been using this, right?"  
  
"Unless Cas decided he wanted to look at funny cat videos on YouTube, yeah."  
  
 "Oh," says Sam. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Come on, man. If I say no, I mean no! What the hell?" It's been a while since Sam accused him of fucking with the computer. Well, aside from getting viruses on it from _Busty Asian Beauties_. With a sudden shock, Dean realizes what his brother has found. He sits bolt upright, insides squeezing like someone's trying to make orange juice down there. "Sam," Dean begins and then stops.  
  
Sam taps a few more keys. The further he goes, the more his eyebrows try to climb up to his hairline.  
  
"Look, I know what it looks like, but it's not that, okay?" he blurts out. Good god, he has been betrayed by his own mouth. Because now, of course, there's no way Sam's going to believe him.  
  
"No, yeah, I know, Dean," Sam says stiffly. He slams the lid of the laptop down and smiles brightly, his eyes fixed at a point somewhere over to the left. "Uh, I'm gonna... I'll just be..." He gestures in the direction of the bathroom.  
  
"I'm not-- I mean _it's_ not what you think."  
  
"I know." Sam absently grabs some clean clothes and sidles over towards the bathroom.  
  
"Right," says Dean, freezing like the proverbial deer in headlights. "I'm gonna get some... uh... beer and ..." He grabs the keys and backs towards the door. He inches away from his brother like Sam's a bomb about to go off, exploding _feelings_ everywhere. And god help him if he's gonna talk about this. He doesn't even want to think about what's happening right now. Fortunately, Sam mirrors his movements as he heads towards the bathroom, looking at his own feet.  
  
The door to the motel slams at the same time the bathroom door does.  
  
It isn't until Dean's out in the parking lot, freezing his ass off that he realizes he hasn't brought his coat. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he says meaningfully, his warm breath blooming into a cloud in the dark.  
  
He finds an only slightly bloodstained blanket in the trunk that he huddles under in the driver's seat. It's not cold enough to snow, but it sure feels like it.  
  
This isn't supposed to happen. Dean's supposed to have a quiet freakout about his sexuality and then everything will go back to normal. He thinks you probably don't just spontaneously switch teams. It's gotta be something that's been in him for a while but maybe he hasn't noticed it.  
  
That throws a whole new light on his life. Maybe it's something he has been forever, but just never noticed because Cas (and Dr. Sexy) weren't there to help him along. Which is great-- really great-- because that means that he's just gonna go back to normal one day.  
  
Dean would pray to God that Sam doesn't find out about Cas, but he suspects Cas would intercept it. He has a worrying way of answering prayers that are prayed to his father. It's not like God has forwarding service for prayers or anything, and Cas isn't his receptionist, so Dean thinks this is just the angel being nosy when it comes to people whose names start with "D" and end with "-ean Winchester". And that would be worse than Sam discovering, well, anything.  
  
Dean feels sick. He wants a drink, but his wallet is still inside the motel room with his brother.  
  
 It isn't until 2am, that Dean lets himself back into the motel room and falls face-first onto the bed. Sam is either asleep or faking it. Dean honestly doesn't care which, and he falls asleep within a moment.  
  
When he wakes up the next morning, Sam is still avoiding his gaze. But he has apparently been out to get some pancakes, so the morning won't be entirely painful. The smell of buttery pancakes and sausage almost makes Dean skip his shower, but he wants a few extra minutes without thinking about what Sam knows. Except that it is like a burden he can't shake. He stands angrily in the shower and thinks that gay porn has caused him to avoid his brother.  
  
By the time he's done, Sam has been a total girl and set up breakfast on paper plates with forks and knives and _napkins_.  
  
"Got a call from Bobby last night," Sam says, his back to Dean as he adds butter and syrup to the table. "We're heading to Nebraska. There have been some incidents with people getting dragged into a lake and drowned. He said it didn't exactly sound like a ghost." The words are still there without having been spoken.  
  
"Nessie?"  
  
There's a twitch at the corner of Sam's mouth that makes Dean relax just a little. "Uh, no. Maybe fairies."  
  
Dean groans. "Those little UFO douchebags?"  
  
Sam turns and looks at him, face flushed. There are bags under his eyes and Dean supposes his little brother hasn't slept much at all. "We need to talk."  
  
"No," says Dean, "we don't."  
  
"Sit down," Sam says, and it's more like a request than a demand. "I got pancakes." There's a kind of gentleness to him that makes Dean want to mock him. But after last night, it's probably not a great idea.  
  
Dean does sit down, but he also cuts himself a huge piece of pancake that he then shoves into his mouth. Oh buttery golden deliciousness topped with syrup and -- heh-- more butter. Yeah. Heart attack for breakfast, that's what he likes. Also, bonus that they can't actually talk while his mouth is that full. Hah! See Sam try to be all touchy feely talky now!  
  
Sam glares at him as if he's figured out Dean's nefarious plot. Which, of course, he probably has. They've lived in tight quarters for too long now. "Okay, Dean, if that's how you want to do it, I'll just talk at you, first." Sam takes a deep breath and Dean can see-- can actually _see_ \-- him turn pink. He clears his throat.  
  
Dean doesn't want to have this conversation. Not even with super awesome pancakes in his mouth. If being gay is the new apocalypse, he'd rather have the old one, thanks. At least Lucifer never wanted to sit around and talk feelings. Or maybe he did, but at least not with Dean.  
  
"I just want you to know that..." Sam looks out the window as if something in the parking lot will save him. "Dean, you know you're... I don't care, okay? If you're..." He waves a hand.  
  
Dean viciously stabs the stack of innocent pancakes and shoves another heaping fork-full into his mouth. He stares fixedly at Sam's untouched breakfast. "I'm not like that," he says around a mouth full of sticky breakfast.  
  
".....gay?" Sam squeaks.  
  
Dean goes hot and cold and feels like a total idiot. "Or... whatever. I'm just not, Sammy."  
  
"I didn't say that you were," Sam says cautiously, edging around the conversation like it's a rabid dog.  
  
Dean narrows his eyes. Touche, smartass. "Right."  
  
"But, I mean, if you were... It would be... I mean... Dean, I'm pretty liberal, okay? It's not like you're different or anything just because you like..." Sam is floundering for the right words. After the silence becomes almost tangible, Sam says, "Didn't you once tell me that... uh... lemme get this right-- 'Ice cream comes in different flavors'? So maybe instead of being just vanilla, you've got a little bit of fudge swirl in you. I don't mind having a fudge swirl brother."  
  
Dean has to swallow so hard that he thinks his throat is going to explode, but he needs to protest. " _Fudge?_ Really? _That's_ where you went with that?"  
  
"Come on, Dean. You know what I'm talking about. Don't make it..." Sam has to stop himself, and his face does all kinds of interesting acrobatics as he tries very hard not to think about it. "The point is, I think of myself as open minded enough to not freak out when... when... my brother is... when I find out more things about you." He folds his hands together like he's at a church or something. By this time, Sam's ears are nearly purple with embarrassment. "As long as you don't, I mean... I can take you talking about women. Barely. Just don't... with guys. Okay? I don't want to think about it."  
  
Dean glares and then stabs a sausage and shoves all of it in his mouth at the same time.  
  
This is when Sam loses all the practiced cool that he has.  
  
"Will you please _never_ do that again in front of me?" he squeaks in uptight indignation.  
  
"Whaa?" Dean says around the sausage, and then swallows. He catches his brother's embarrassed gaze at the plate of sausage links. Oh. So uh, right. " _Jesus Christ_ , Sam!" Dean bellows. "Did you have to get the _links_? Patties not good enough for you?"  
  
"I could ask you the same question!" Sam returns.  
  
There's dead silence.  
  
It's broken by a snort of laughter from Dean, followed by a wry chuckle from Sam. They don't fall apart laughing, but they never do these days. This is good enough. At least they're on the same page now.

Dean shakes his head, stomach uncurling from its knots. "We are never having this discussion again," he says, but it's not angrily meant. There's a flood of emotion in Dean that might just be a little bit happy. Great. Might as well trade in his boots for high heels.  
  
"Right," says Sam. "Which is why I'm saying this now." He clears his throat like he's about to give some big speech. "It's gonna take some getting used to, but I'm okay with you being--uh--gay."  
  
"I'm not," Dean says. He spears another link of sausage sighs before adding, “Just a little fudge swirl.”


	5. Get harassed by angel's family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean + Worst Fake Narnia Ever = Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly un beta-ed. But lemme tell you, if I was gonna torture Dean, this is how I'd do it.

**5\. Get harassed by angel's family.**

  
Two weeks later, Dean walks through the front door of the Daylight Motel's room 233 and finds himself in a town. Huh. Never knew Narnia existed in a motel in Missouri. It's a shitty Appalachian Narnia, too. The skies are grey and snow is falling, only it's not nearly cold enough for anything to freeze. He holds a hand out and the snow makes a dark smear over the back of his hand. The hell? Oh. Ash. Great. He turns around to go back through the door, but it's gone.  
  
He feels like he should be surprised, except that, well, he's not. After the apocalypse and the unholy grail and Leviathans and being fudge swirl, stupid stuff like finding Narnia in their motel room is just something that happens.  
  
"Sam? Hey, Sammy--" But his brother isn't behind him. Or in front of him. Or within hearing distance, apparently.  
  
"SAM!" he shouts for good measure, but there's no answer. His voice echoes hollowly in the dead air.  
  
The street is deserted. He looks up the road, and there's nothing. Down the road and there's nothing. Parked cars, empty buildings, the only thing stirring is the falling ash. But somehow it feels like there is something alive: a whole word of life that's just on the other side of nothing. The town is dead, but it _breathes_. He feels a soft shiver up his spine. The place is familiar in a horrible sort of way. Okay, then. Assessment time.  
  
Dean gropes around in his pockets for a weapon and finds only the handgun he had tucked under his waistband that morning. It's empty, too. He'd wasted all the salt bullets gunning down a particularly stubborn ghost that evening. He reloads with a handful of silver bullets that he has left. He's gonna be screwed if there are ghosts. And looking at this place? There are ghosts. He can practically smell them. Not _really_ of course. Unlike pretty much every other supernatural creature, ghosts are completely scent free.  
  
This, of course, makes Dean think of Cas. Ozone and soap. He wonders what Jimmy used to smell like before Castiel decided he was pretty enough to inhabit. His stomach turns. That's one thing he hadn't thought about. Jimmy.  
  
Well, there are more important things to worry about right now than if an impossible romance between him and Cas would have consent issues. Important things like where Sam is.  
  
He gropes for his phone and hits Sam's number. It connects at first, but the signal fades in the middle of the second ring. He tries again, but nothing happens. Then, as he's looking at it, the battery drains. It doesn't just turn off, it drains in front of his eyes like something's sucking the life out of his phone. He curses softly.  
  
Well, nothing for it but to pick a direction and go. He chooses left.  
  
His progress around the empty world is slow and deliberate. He keeps jumping at nothing, until he realizes exactly what it is that's making him jumpy. There is literally nothing there. No bugs, no birds, no squirrels or dogs or anything. And definitely no people. It's the very definition of a ghost town except there are still no ghosts to be seen. He tries to go into a convenience store to get some salt, but no matter what he does, he can't seem to get inside. He can't even break the window's glass.   
  
This is when he sees a vague shape in the fog. He lifts his gun and moves closer slowly. The closer he gets, the more feminine it looks. He can't quite tell from here, but it looks like she's just standing there facing away from him. Dean speeds up. "Hey!" he calls. "Hey, lady! You need some help?" All the while with his gun trained on the figure. He catches up easily. And sees it.  
  
It's not a woman.  
  
 _Why the hell_ , Dean thinks, _did I expect to see a regular woman in fake Narnia?_ He might have at least expected a lady who was also half goat (why, for the love of all things good and smutty would anyone want _that_ ), but he would have been wrong. He might have guessed just about anything, but he would have been wrong. Nothing he dreamed up could possibly match the confusion and horror of the thing shambling its way towards him.  
  
It's legs.  
  
And another pair of legs.  
  
And they are _glued together in the middle._  
  
One pair is situated like a normal person-- upright and walking. The other pair arches up over the first one with what should have been feet pointing straight at him. There aren't feet on the top legs. Just a pair of nubs.  
  
Dean can't tell if they're legs and other legs from people or legs and other legs from dummies, but it doesn't matter. They seem to sense him. One of the legs on the top twitches towards him as if it senses his presence. Then, without warning, it careens towards him, wobbling and kicking with the top pair of legs. It's going nuts like it's actually excited to see him.  
  
He shoots it.  
  
The thing staggers back in a short spray of blood.   
  
He shoots it again. Twice.  
  
Legs falls down, still kicking weakly against the pavement. Dean shoots it a fourth time, and it lies still at last. He edges closer and notices that, yeah, it's plastic. But it looks real. And unless someone filled it with ketchup, that thing had _bled._ It's covered in dirty smears that somehow make it seem more alive. Dean nudges it with his boot, his heartbeat pounding in his own ears. "Well," he says, with a cockiness that he doesn't feel, "aren't you the perfect woman?" But the joke falls flat in the dead air, and he suddenly feels cold.  
  
The urge to get as far away from it as possible fills him, and he heads down the street in what he hopes is the right direction.  
  
After he's walked for about ten minutes in dead silence, there's a faint sound that makes him jump so hard he nearly drops his gun. As it gets louder, Dean realizes someone's walking towards him out of the fog. He raises his gun and points it in the direction of the sound. He realizes he's shaking and steadies himself with his other hand. This is stupid. They've seen worse than Legs. Surely Lucifer and angry angels and Leviathans have a head start on Legs. But something about her echoed hell. The real hell, not Crowley's post office perdition.  
  
He thinks, for one split second, about calling Cas. And in the next second he decides that-- no-- he can handle it. Hell or Legs or Narnia or whatever was going on-- this is a lot better than standing around desperately _not thinking_ about making out with his favorite angel while said angel is staring fixedly at him. Also, calling Cas is a total cop out. He'd show up if he showed up.  
  
Just before he's ready to shoot (and _not_ ask questions later), his brother's voice booms out of the fog, "DEAN?!"  
  
Relief floods him. "Sam! Over here!"  
  
Sam jogs up, his hair thick with ashes. He looks more annoyed than frightened. Actually he usually looks a little annoyed, so Sam just looks like Sam. "Dean. Where the hell were you?"  
  
"Where are we?" Dean demands. "Did you run into any of those things?"  
  
"What things?"  
  
"There was a ... thing that was legs and some other legs." He looks over his shoulder as if it's going to be chasing him. "It was walking along and then it started Kermiting at me!"  
  
Sam gives him an odd look. "Kermiting?"  
  
"You know," Dean says, raising his arms over his head and flailing. He adds, "Yaaaaay!"  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and moves off into the fog in the same direction Dean had been heading. "No, I haven't run into any Kermit legs."  
  
"Sam, it wasn't Kermit legs, it was just legs like lady legs, like manne--" He stops because something else happens.  
  
They hit the hole.  
  
It's a deep trench that ends the road. Hell, it practically ends the world. It's not a normal trench, or something you could jump over. It actually hurts to look at it. Endless rolling fog and endless falling ash and the steep, jagged sides disappearing down into nothing. Dean picks up a stone from the road  and makes his way over to the end of the world. He holds it out into mid air, pausing for just a moment before letting it go. It plummets, disappearing into the fog almost instantly, but it doesn't make a sound as it falls. He waits almost two minutes, but still can't hear it hit the bottom.  
  
"Jesus Christ," he says, peering down into the abyss.  
  
"Not exactly, but you're pretty close."  
  
The voice at his ear makes him jump enough to nearly fall in. When he turns, angry, he has a second shock that makes him go numb.  
  
It's him.  
  
It's Dr. Sexy.  
  
It's Dr. Sexy, M.D. in his sexy, sexy cowboy boots with his shining hair and ruggedly handsome jaw. He's in his white coat, and he's smiling for Dean. At Dean. Smiling _at_ Dean. "Hello," he says, and Dean freezes. "Did you get trapped here, too?" He puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. It's a big hand. Warm and... uh.... "It's so good to see someone else in this... wasteland." He leans closer. "And, if you don't mind my saying, someone so handsome."  
  
Dean even move. An object of desire falls right in front of him (for the second time) and he can't think of a damn thing to say except, "Doctor."  
  
"Oh my god," Sam groans melodramatically. And that's when it dawns on Dean.  
  
Second time.  
  
Son of a _bitch_.  
  
"Gabriel," Sam says flatly.


	6. Survive Step 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel being a dick really shouldn't be news to either Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to TaraFarrago for the beta.

**6\. Survive Step 5.**  
Dr. Sexy's ruggedly handsome face melts into the smarmy, sharp features of heaven's second least favorite archangel (he's probably Dean's first favorite archangel, but that's not saying much). He looks the same as ever-- smirking as if he hasn't been presumed dead. The little dick is even wearing the same green jacket that Dean last saw him in. Is there some rule out there that you get to keep your clothes if you resurrect in the same vessel? "Hello, boys. Surprised?"   
  
"A little," Dean says just as Sam bellows, "No!"   
  
"Aw, Sammy. Always knew I'd come back, didn't you? That's a true sign of faith." The word is mockery in his mouth. Gabriel shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels and then forward again, gleeful as a child. An asshole child. "But you, Dean? You always, _always_ underestimate me. It's a good thing I find it so amusing." That smug little smile never leaves his smug little face.  
    
"You're dead," Dean says like it's something that Gabriel doesn't know about himself.  
  
"Yeah... not so much. It's really hard to kill someone like me. Mostly because I kill myself over and over. For _fun_. Hard to use my own hobby against me." For a moment he seems to be sad, but the sorrow is soon washed over by a look of pride. He picks his way over to the edge of the abyss and stares down into it. He lets out a low whistle. "That's a long way down!"   
  
"I suppose _this_ is all your fault," Sam says, and the expression on his face is pretty angry. Like he's gonna tear Gabriel a new one.  Dean doesn't think this is quite fair, as the last thing the archangel ever did was to save them. Try to save them. Well, try to save them and then create the worst Narnia ever. Which, by the way, could probably kill them. Good idea not to piss off the one guy who could get you out of there. "What the hell do you want?"    
  
"Cutting to the chase, are we? No welcome back Gabriel party, huh?" The archangel affects a pout that crosses the border from mocking into creepy. He sighs theatrically, and then his face goes sly and clever. He turns this look on Sam. "You pray too loud."   
  
Sam opens his mouth to complain, but stops and glances at his brother. Then he goes pink. "You were listening in?"   
  
"I'm the answer to your prayers, buddy," Gabriel says.   
  
"Don't you dare," Sam hisses with another guilty glance at Dean. "Just... go away!"   
  
Gabriel chuckles and turns to Dean. "For behold, I am Gabriel, messenger of God and kickass Angel of Justice. I bring you news which shall give you both great joy." A glow spreads over his shoulders, and Dean realizes that it's his grace. Unlike Castiel's dark shadows of wings, Gabriel displays his in light. Weird. Dean had always pictured Gabriel's wings as looking like cheap-ass costume rentals that turned out to be real. "That which you have most hoped for, Dean Winchester, is coming to pass due to your brother's faithful prayers."   
  
What does he most hope for? Peace on Earth? No more demons? "Uh... Jessica Simpson slipping a nip at halftime?" Dean hazards.  
  
"No, you idiot," Gabriel says, still in his almighty angel voice. "I'm here to tell you that your girly mancrush is not completely hopeless. The object of your desires is confused right now, but I'm pretty sure he likes you, too."   
  
Dean's jaw drops.   
  
"I did _not_ pray for that!" Sam complains, as if this isn't Gabriel in front of them. Of all people, you'd think Sam would have some respect for Gabriel's powers by now. Apparently not. "I prayed that he..." another guilty look "...would be comfortable being who he is."   
  
"Aw, Sammy, you're so sweet." Gabriel stops glowing and grins up at him. "But I knew what you really meant. You wanted Dean to be happy. So I'm making him happy."   
  
Dean holds up both hands because pretty soon they're all gonna grow lady parts and start talking about feelings. "So wait. Doctor Sexy--"  
  
"Castiel, moron!" Gabriel says happily. "Doctor Sexy isn't real."   
  
In the silence that follows, Sam turns fifty shades of red. Dean hopes he chokes on whatever he's thinking right now. "...Cas?" he manages to say after a long moment.  
  
Dean's heart stops in his throat. Then, because this is what he does, he changes the subject. "Are you kidding me? You decide that it's not worth telling us you're alive to help stop the apocalypse or bring back Sam's soul, but you come back to answer Sam's prayer about my--" He turns on Sam. "That is the stupidest prayer I've ever heard! And also, haven't we learned that God doesn't give a crap?"   
  
"Well, Gabriel does," Sam says, trying to avoid Dean's gaze.   
  
"I'm not... it was a _thought_. About _kissing_. I didn't..." Dean swallows the lie. It was more than one thought. And as much as he'd like to keep lying to himself and Sam, he knows what Gabriel does to people who lie. Gabriel always proves he's a better liar,  in ways that come back to bite you in the ass. So Dean switches tracks. "Cas doesn't... he's not gay. He's married. Twice. I thought you people hold those kinds of vows sacred."   
  
Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Jimmy Novak was married. Emmanuel was married. _Castiel_ left heaven for _you_."   
  
Dean feels like the ash is suddenly suffocating him. "Listen," says Dean, "I'm not doing anything. Dude's an _angel_. I'm not askin' him to the junior prom. I'm gonna go back to normal, okay?" Dean glowers and wishes he'd thought to carry holy oil with him all the time. "The whole gay thing is temporary. I'm getting over it."   
  
"Well, if you wanna believe that, it's fine." Gabriel licks a finger and holds it up in the air. Something must please him because he smiles. "Just stop ignoring him. It's making him upset."   
  
"Wait-- what?!" This is the last thing he expects from the archangel.   
  
"He's been mooning around the stratosphere waiting for your phone call, champ." Gabriel's face squishes for a moment as he looks up, and then amends, "Actually no. He's been hunting demons. Usual stuff. But in a much more sulky way than normal."   
  
This is when the sirens start, an eerie echoing wail that rises up among the ashes and the dead silence.   
  
"Oh my god," Sam says with sudden realization. At first he looks like he's excited about the revelation. But that excitement quickly sours into anger. "It's Silent Hill, isn't it. _Silent Hill?!_ You are _such a dick_ , Gabriel!"   
  
"I thought you'd like it. Oh, and boys? Try to survive this next bit, would you?" Gabriel smiles, snaps his fingers, and vanishes.   
  
It isn't Legs. After watching Sam ice a few, they don't bother him. It's not the screaming deformed kids or the weird dogs or the birds who look like they've been through a meat grinder. The truly horrible part of being stuck in Silent Hill is that Dean can't just reach over and grab anything he wants. For example: now. They're in a hardware store and there's a crowbar sitting in plain sight. But when Dean goes for it, no matter how hard he pulls on it, he can't move it. Right next to it is a bag of rock salt that he can't even slit open. It's like half the stuff here is made out of concrete. And worse, Sam seems to be able to do it. He'll just grab something (like that rifle that was conveniently lying on the ground back there) and it turns out to be not only usable but also useful. Somewhere, Gabriel is sitting around laughing at them.   
  
He makes another attempt to grab the crowbar, and only ends up straining his fingers.   
  
"Dean, stop it. You can't use that." Sam steps on the head of the slimy looking dog he'd just shot.   
  
Dean trudges over, empty handed. "So where to now?"   
  
"Honestly, I don't know," Sam says unhappily. "I've played the games, but it was a long time ago and this seems to be a hybrid of a few different ones." He looks over his shoulder and then sighs. "Maybe the amusement park? That seems to be significant. Except..." he trails off, gaze drawn to the door.   
  
"Fine," says Dean. "As long as we don't have to go through the school again." The little screaming children had gotten on his nerves.  
  
"Yeah, I don't think we'll have to," Sam says, grabbing a nail from a shelf. Somehow, he had managed to pick the one thing in the whole shop that actually worked. It was completely unfair.  
  
"How did you do that?" Dean asks, reaching for the nail. He was fast running out of bullets while Sam seemed to keep finding them in people's back yards and on just about every flat surface in town.   
  
"I just went for the thing that wasn't greyed out like everything else." Sam says, as if this is some kind of great explanation. He does something with his hand which seems to send the nail into negative space. "Sweet. Inventory!" He actually looks excited about this. Nerd.   
  
They strike out into the fog-drowned streets again only to be met by one of those flying bird things. Sam calmly shoots it twice with a rifle he found somewhere and then kicks it. While he's taking care of that, another Legs comes flying out of nowhere and lands to Dean's left. The first time one had done that, he'd practically peed himself. He shoots it, but it doesn't seem to be going down. Sam is wiggling his fingers in the air. Probably rearranging his friggin' inventory. "So.... uh... Cas?" Sam says, decidedly _not_ looking at Dean.  
  
"Christ, Sam! Help me with this thing!"   
  
"I mean," says Sam, shooting Legs without bothering to see if he's got the gun cocked properly, "He's an angel, Dean. He doesn't have feelings."   
  
"Are you _trying_ to be a douchebag or is it just an accident?" Dean yells, stomping on Legs after she falls. "Of course the man has feelings! _Come on_ , Sam!"   
  
"It's just that he's not human, Dean." Sam says without accusation, which Dean think is totally unfair. "Not that I'm racist or anything but if you're going to have a.... uh... liaison with a .... I mean, shouldn't your first guy be a human?" While Dean grits his teeth and tries to come up with a sarcastic comment that somehow encompasses what a horrible brother he is, Sam continues, "You don't just go having casual relationships with waves of celestial intent. It's like romancing a solar flare."  
  
"Ruby!" Dean barks, and this seems to shut Sam up for a while.   
  
Sam's right about the amusement park, but that's not the end of their journey. They end up jumping down holes, going to a hospital, and for a few hours they're stuck in the same apartment that keeps trying to kill them. Sam is blessedly quiet about everything but the environment they're interacting with.   
  
But later, when they're dodging the attacks of three giant guys with triangle helmets and giant knives, Sam says, "It sort of makes sense, I guess." He ducks under the attack from one. He's kind of ridiculously good at this, and it's making Dean irritated. What comes out of his mouth next is twice as irritating, though. "I mean, I never thought you were gonna go for guys, but really-- Cas is the only person outside of us and Bobby that you actually trust."   
  
"Sam, will you--" Dean narrowly misses getting his head chopped off.  
  
"Just keep dodging," Sam says easily. "They get tired after a while. Anyway, if you were gonna fall in love with someone, it kind of makes sense for it to be Castiel."   
  
Dean frantically avoids two swinging blades at once.   
  
"It's okay, Dean," Sam continues, sidestepping an attack. "Even though he's an angel. I guess what I was trying to say before was that you shouldn't take him lightly. He's too important to have a one night stand with."   
  
"What do you mean, _love_?!" Dean shouts, and suddenly, all three triangle guys stop moving. "I never said anything about love," he protests. It's not about love. It's about being a little bit gay and maybe kind of turned on when Cas smites shit to save him. It's about how he feels about Dr. Sexy's cowboy boots. Love would mean he's totally and completely screwed.   
  
And he's not.   
  
Really.  
  
"Oh," says Sam, a little surprised. "So... uh... what are we talking about here?"   
  
"We shouldn't be talking about _anything_ ," Dean says flatly. "We should be killing these ... whatever they are."  
  
Sam isn't listening. Instead, he wipes at a bit of blood off the side of his face, but just ends up smearing it like warpaint. "Dean," he says seriously, "I know you're right, and I have no room to judge. But just be careful, okay?" He smiles a little. It's not a happy smile because Sam isn't a happy person, but it's a nice smile. Somehow that makes it worse-- Sam is being _nice_ to him. "I think you should tell him."  
  
"No." Dean says. And then, "Why?"   
  
"I think Gabriel's right." Sam says. "I think he likes you, too."  
  
Then Dean has to punch him for being such a mangirl.


	7. Go to hell in a really gay hand basket.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is cured! Oh, wait, he's not. Also, Cas appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to TaraFarrago who dissuaded me from posting some truly gay chapters of gayness, and instead helped me make Dean a little more Dean. Here is the longest chapter yet.

**7\. Go to hell in a really gay hand basket.**  
She's the hottest piece of... everything... that Dean has ever seen in his life. She's got grey eyes and sleek blonde hair, and a great body that shows through tight jeans and a plaid shirt. It really helps that she's sitting on a piece of purring machinery. Not much protection from the road if they fall off her gorgeous red motorcycle. "Well?" she calls to him, throwing him a helmet. "Are you coming?"  
  
He catches it easily and joins her, taking the front seat. He's never driven a motorcycle, but now he knows what he's missing as they speed down the highway. Whole towns flash past and the woman presses up against his back, all warmth and softness. Well, two parts of her are warm and soft.  
  
"How long have you been a secret agent?" She murmurs against his ear, making him shiver.  
  
"All my life." Dean says. It's not lying exactly. Being a hunter is sort of like being a secret agent. And a superhero. A secrethero superagent. He's pretty sure this is the best idea ever.  
  
"That's so _hot_ ," she says, shifting closer so that clothes mean almost nothing. One of her long hands moves over his thigh, the gentle pressure causing a thrill to run up his spine. He accelerates and the world blurs as she moves her hand under the waistband of his jeans. She's toying with him now, and he suddenly can feel her breasts naked against his bare back. He's hard, and all he can think of is-- _I gotta find a motel_.  
  
"So, Mr. Secret Agent Man," she murmurs, "How about a bed?"  
  
He breathes out.  
  
"Turn right," she murmurs in his ear, breath hot.  
  
He turns and they're in bed. It's still rocketing down the highway like the motorcycle. He presses into her, seeing stars and then--  
  
He's waking up, hard as a rock.  
  
Dean looks over at the clock. 6:15. Sam's missing from his bed, probably gone jogging. Good. He makes a break for the privacy of the bathroom and a hot shower.  He thinks of the woman with the grey eyes, thinks of brunettes and blondes and redheads and above all-- _boobs_. The shower has a fantastic ending, and Dean's brain explodes with relief. He comes out of the bathroom feeling like a new man.  
  
Or rather, the man he used to be.  
  
He's cured!  
  
Oddly enough, the thought makes him want to see Cas even more. Now that he is fixed, he'll be able to look at the angel and see his friend instead of an object of unwanted desire. There's a certain amount of relief involved in this thought. He misses Cas. He's missed him this whole time, but now that Dean's straight again, he feels better about wishing Cas was there.  
  
Even when Sam comes back with yogurt and granola instead of doughnuts, it's still a great day. Dean slyly flirts his way through the day, eyeing tits and ass, and making innuendo his bitch. When they stop for gas, he not only buys all the back issues of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , he also finds time to lounge hopefully over the counter until the cashier giggles and writes her number on the back of his receipt. She's not his usual type, but it makes him feel good and he leaves an extra five dollars in the tip jar.  
  
He's still on a high that night when they stop at a diner in the town where a ghost has been running rampant in the graveyard. Their waitress is maybe twenty with dyed red hair and breasts that would make God proud he ever created women. "So... can I take your order?" She's got her shirt unbuttoned, too, and Dean can see down into the pleasant valley between her hills made specifically for guys like him to camp in.  
  
"Greek salad. Hold the onions." Sam is barely paying attention to her, his concentration focused on the newspaper articles in front of him.  
  
"I'll take a cheeseburger, some fries, a milkshake, and your number, sweetie," Dean says with a wink.  
  
She looks at him, as if contemplating shelling out the old "1-800-GET-LOST" line. Dean slouches back in his chair, a routine that regularly gets the ladies. It seems to work on the waitress as it's worked on hundreds before her. She smiles. "Sure," she chirps. "Coming right up."   
  
When she sashays away (wow), Sam clears his throat. "So..."  
  
"We head out after dinner to the graveyard and see if we can't find who didn't get a proper burial.  Use the Uncle Joe routine?" IT was a useful trick. One of them (Dean) would distract the graveyard attendant with melodramatic tears and a story about some dead relative. The other one (Sam) would take the time to hack into their computer.  
  
"No. Well, yeah, but no. I mean... Dean-- what the hell was that?" Sam leans in like he's imparting some great secret.  
  
"What was what? I didn't ask for extra onions or anything." This counts as being nice. It totally does.  
  
"You flirting with her?" Sam acts like this is some kind of barbarity. Usually, he just rolls his eyes and keeps quiet, so Dean has no idea what he's talking about until he hisses, "What about _Cas_?"  
  
"I'm not gay." Dean says slowly and clearly so his brother will get the point. "Did you expect me to go off and have some epic love affair with a _dude_? Who's also an _angel_ , Sam? I told you that I'd be back to normal. And I am! I'm normal again.This is a good thing," he adds because Sam is still glowering. "It was temporary insanity brought on by... stress or something, I don't know. But I'm better now."  
  
Sam's expression turns from skeptical to smug. "If you're so over Cas, why don't you just pray for him to join us for dinner, huh? I'm sure hanging out with him will be just fine, and then he can help us with this ghost."  
  
"Fine," Dean says.  
  
"Fine," Sam repeats.  
  
Their food arrives courtesy of Sexy Waitress (complete with her number tucked under his plate), and Dean folds his hands dramatically. "Oh, Angel of Thursday, how about you get your ass over here and help us eat this food and kill some bad guys. Amen," he adds at the end. He keeps his voice as level as possible, but his stupid insides wiggle like jelly.  
  
When a minute passes and the only thing that changes is the amount of salad Sam has consumed, icy relief fills him. Hah! Take that, engines of gay fate! Dean shoves the burger in his mouth triumphantly and goes back to making eyes at Sexy Waitress while Sam just shakes his head.  
  
Their ghost research turns out to be not so much research as just a standard salt-and-burn. When they reach the graveyard, the ghost has already killed the attendant and made inroads on desecrating other graves by carving its name into their headstones. This makes it extremely easy to find the grave of one James Turner (died at age 17 of sheer assholishness). It is over in a short enough amount of time that Dean makes it back just as the diner closes for the night.  
  
She's waiting for him in the hot night air, which strikes Dean as weird in January. Well, it's Florida. He doesn't know what he expected. Her shirt is even less buttoned than it was earlier, and all he wants to do is bury his face in there.  
  
"Hey, stranger," Sexy Waitress says. "Now what was your name again?"  
  
"Dean," says Dean despite having used P. Sherman's credit card earlier that night. "And yours?"  
  
"Jennifer."  
  
He sleeps with Jennifer.  
  
Over the next week, he also sleeps with two Sarahs, a Kimberly, and an Anne. Not all at once, although that would have been something of a dream come true.  
  
He finds it easier to put aside any residual gayness when his face is pressed between a pair of boobs. There's also the pleasant side effect of pissing Sam off with his unending wave of casual sex.  
  
Cas still hasn't answered his prayer, and Dean is really missing him pretty hardcore. Not even for the help he sort of sometimes brings if it suits him, but because it can get claustrophobic with just him and Sammy driving around in his baby all the time. It's okay to want his best friend back. Now that he's back to normal of course. He thinks about praying, but mostly he's just too busy with the lovely ladies of the lower 48. And exorcising some demons, of course. So he's in a great mood when Cas finally decides to take some time out of his busy schedule and show up.  
  
While Dean is in the shower.  
  
Fortunately, he shows up on the other side of the curtain.  
  
Dean can't hear the tell-tale shifting of air, so he drops the soap when Cas says, "Hello Dean," from barely a foot away. He will, forever after this day, never admit to anyone that the strangled yelp that echoed around the bathroom came from him. He will also never admit (not even to himself) the girly thrill he got on hearing Cas' voice again.  
  
"Cas! Knock on the... don't bother me when I'm taking a shower!" Dean protests. He also sticks a hand out from behind the shower curtain and gestures. "And get me a towel."  
  
A towel is placed in his hand, and he yanks it back in the tub, kicking the water off. "I'm sorry for interrupting your shower. Your prayer made it sound urgent that I come immediately." There was a hint of sarcasm in the angel's tone. Great, Cas. Nice job learning how to be human. Dean feels a bit of pride about this. "I believe you promised food and ghost hunting."  
  
Dean wraps the towel around his waist and jerks the curtain back.  
  
Castiel looks the same as ever, which is totally weird. He's out of place here. Too big, somehow for the confines of a motel bathroom. Maybe it's the coat. Maybe it's the suit. Maybe it's that he's a non-human in a space that takes care of all that human crap. Dean is acutely aware that he's dressed in a flimsy motel towel and that his hair is plastered to his forehead.  
  
"Cas-- showers are _private_ things," he begins slowly, as if teaching a child.  
  
"Then I'm glad I came when you were done." The angel hands him his comb. "I want your help."  
  
Dean takes the comb and sets it back on the counter. "Can it wait until I'm dry, at least?"  
  
The angel reaches over and touches his shoulder. Dean feels like he's been sucked into a hairdryer and then out the other end. "Cas. Stop. Just... gimme five minutes to get dressed." When he makes no move to disappear, Dean barks, "Alone!"  
  
Cas narrows his eyes and disappears, the steam from the shower swirling quickly to take the up the space where he'd been.  
  
"I didn't mean just leave!" Dean shouts, the sound echoing against the tile.  
  
"Hello, Sam," Castiel says on the other side of the bathroom door.  
  
"Hey, Castiel!" Dean hears Sam say happily. "Did my prayers finally get to you?"  
  
There's an awkward silence before Castiel says, "Dean promised food and ghost hunting."  
  
"Dean's a dick," Sam says pretty unfairly. Apparently he's still mad about the whole being kicked out of his room for every night that week thing. "How about harpies and lunch later?" Sam offers as Dean starts pulling on his clothes.  
  
Cas asks, "Are burgers considered lunch food?"  
  
"Uh, I guess," Sam says.  
  
"Then I'll help you with the _harpies_ ," Cas says carefully. Apparently burgers are still a touchy subject.  
  
They leave as a trio-- Sam chatting away about all the different harpy mythologies, and Castiel butting in every few sentences to tell him how the legends got it wrong. Dean watches them together like they're gunpowder and flame. Any minute now, Sam is going to blurt out something about Dean's _feelings_ , and Castiel is going to ask him probing questions that will lead to Dean outing himself and destroying everything that he's worked so hard to maintain (ie. straightness). But it doesn't happen. Nothing happens. They just talk about harpies until Sam is satisfied that he knows what they're dealing with.  
  
"So, where you been, Cas?" Dean asks finally as they pull onto a side road that takes them up to the park where the nest is.  
  
"Reconnaissance," Castiel says from the back seat. "There's something I need your help with."  
  
Sam twists around. "It's not an angel thing is it?"  
  
"Of course it's an angel thing, Sam." Dean glances in the back seat where Cas has decided to straddle the center instead of picking a side. He's not wearing a seatbelt, but that's probably okay if you're already a mostly indestructible weapon of God. "What kind of angel thing is it?"  
  
"It's another building with angel proofing," Castiel says, looking out one of the windows. "I need your help to get inside."  
  
That hadn't gone so well the last time they tried it. Dean still aches to think of the endlessly cheerful Pamela suffering through her last breaths on the bed.  
  
Sam frowns. "Demons?"  
  
"No," Cas says. "There's a group of humans who seem to be using the building for slaughtering rabbits. It didn't seem important at first, but are seem to be bringing in more and more animals. The amount of meat coming out does not equal the number of animals going in. And the barriers are... concerning," He looks troubled at the thought.  
  
"We can do this after the harpies, right?" Sam raises his eyebrows.  
  
"Yes," Cas agrees. "We can rescue the bunnies later."  
  
"Last time we went into an angelproofed building, we just sort of got left to our own devices." Sam sounds skeptical. "Is there any way we can un-angelproof the building so you can be there?" He twists in his seat again. "If we can't, that's fine, but we'll probably at least need you to doctor us up if the bunnies are deadly or something."  
  
"I'm not a doctor," Castiel says seriously. "But of course I'll heal you if you're hurt." He goes on to describe how exactly they can take down the wards, but Dean can't hear him.  
  
His brain has exploded.  
  
That's _exactly_ what Dr. Sexy said in Season 3, Episode 14 when he got fired from his job at the hospital and ran into that homeless guy with the broken leg! "I'm not a doctor," he'd said, tying the splint onto the man's leg and looking soulfully into his eyes, "But of course I'll heal you if you're hurt."  
  
Hearing it come out of Cas' mouth makes Dean uncomfortably aware of the similarities between the two (mostly stubble and seriousness and the fact that Dean has a _massive girly crush on both of them_ ). Son of a bitch! He was fixed! Fixed! He steals a glance in the rear view mirror.  
  
He's not fixed.  
  
He wants Cas. Wants to kiss him and touch him and see if that skin that hurts to punch is actually soft and pliable. He wants to run his hands through the angel's eternal bed head and find out if Cas' mouth is really as big as it looks.  
  
He's not fixed. As much fun as he'd had this past week, he's. not. fixed. It makes him wanna scream or hit something. If they ever run into God, Dean's gonna smack himself a bitch for not making human sexuality more defined. Stuff like _This can't be happening to me!_ , and _What's wrong with my dick_? run circles through his head.  
  
Dean curses inwardly and hunches down in his seat while having a quiet crisis. If Sam notices, he doesn't say anything.  
  
This isn't supposed to happen. If only Cas had chosen a fat bald guy for a vessel, this wouldn't have happened. Or even if he'd stuck with Jimmy Novak's daughter it might have been okay. Oh god. Jimmy Novak. What the hell would Cas' nice guy meatsuit think of all this? Well, hopefully neither he nor the angel passenger know what's going on in Dean's seriously disturbed mind.  
  
He takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the slaughter of innocent bunnies.  
  
"Cas-- hey-- we're not going to have to die to save your rabbit friends, right?" Dean looks in the rear view mirror again and catches the angel's eyes. He looks away quickly in order to preserve his sanity. "I mean, I'm all for putting my life on the line to save some people, but I ain't dying for a bunch of little hoppy fluffers. No matter how cute they are." He pulls into a parking spot in a nearly abandoned parking lot. The harpies are another half mile up off the trail. Or so they think.  
  
"You won't have to die again," Castiel says as he climbs out of the back seat. The winter sun is bright and high. Maybe it's fate or magic or something, but Sam's still in the car when Cas turns to Dean and says, "And if you _do_ make a stupid mistake to yourself killed or sent to hell again, I'll bring you back. I will not let you fall, Dean." His eyes are so blue and intense that they make Dean go soft inside.  
  
Like a teenage girl.  
  
Everything falls apart. He likes Cas. He's attracted to him. And he's lying if he says the angel isn't important to him. And maybe all the Jennifers and Sarahs and Kimberlys in the world could still turn him on, but no one else in all of creation could look at him like that and tell him flat out that they'd come rescue him from hell. "Thanks Cas," he says awkwardly, fighting a blush and refusing to meet the angel's eyes.

  
But the whole time he's thinking: _I'm so screwed_.


	8. Date like a dude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Cas on a date. But not with each other. Cas is really bad at dating hypothetical people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to TaraFarrago for being my beta. Is it just me or does Colton Haynes kind of look like a Winchester?

**8\. Date like a dude.**  
Maybe the prostitute had been a bad idea.  
  
Dean still remembers the cornered look the angel had when that hooker with the bad dad had asked his name. It had been kind of hilarious. Now, Dean has to re-evaluate. He isn't going to sit around thinking about how much he _totally doesn't_ want to do his best friend, and he wants normal as fast as possible. So the best, manliest idea he has is this: picking up chicks at a bar. Bonus points for having Cas along, so he can see just how manly Dean is. Maybe even learn something.  
  
It's perfect. There's alcohol and women involved, and it doesn't actually take that much convincing to get Cas to go with him (or to get Sam to stay behind).  
  
So there they were, an Angel of the Lord wearing a salesman and a trenchcoat and his hunter friend trying desperately not to be gay next to him at a slightly sticky bar in northern California. Not being gay, by the way, is a lot easier to do when whiskey and breasts are at hand. Thank god for ladies' nights.  
  
"That one," Cas says, pointing to a woman in a low cut blue dress who is chatting to a man next to her.  
  
Dean doesn't know what the man is thinking. She's all wrong. For one, those breasts are fake. Cheap fake, not good fake. "No, man, you gotta look for the ones who aren't already with another guy." Dean gestures with his glass. "Her? She's got this guy wrapped around her finger. And she's going for the kill. See her drink? Wine. She's classy. Or thinks she is. And he's got money. She can totally tell. Nah, not her. Try again."  
  
Cas cranes his neck, and Dean tries to look where he's looking instead of at the gentle curve of flesh that he really wants to bite. He takes another drink.  
  
"Her." Cas points to another woman in a skirt who is laughing with a group of friends. She's more natural looking than the other one, though her hair obviously came in a bottle.  
  
"No, man, no way. If they're traveling in a pack like that, they get vicious. Think piranhas. If you go for one of them, they'll turn on you." Dean shakes his head. "Do you even know what you're looking for, Cas?"  
  
The angel turns to him, face drenched in the blue light of the neon Bud sign over the bar. "A bright soul," he says, as if that's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Dean doesn't know if this is a joke or not. If it is, it's not very funny. "Well _stop_ it," he says finally, after he's washed away the awkwardness with the last of his whiskey. He taps the bar for a refill. "You gotta look for her environment, Cas. What's she doing? Who's she with? What does she want? That's the kind of stuff you need to know. Not how pretty her soul is. That's not the point of this."  
  
Cas looks at him weirdly. "I understand that you don't always have sex with someone you love, but shouldn't it be a search for an ideal mate? If you're going to be that intimate with someone, shouldn't you consider compatibility first?"  
  
"No way, Cas. You're supposed to be looking for someone who turns you on. And who's gonna be easy. You don't pick up life partners in a bar." It was a lesson to live by, courtesy of Professor Dean Winchester. That'll be $50 for the full class. "Come on. Remember what I told you. Pick a good one."  
  
The angel sighs with a certain amount of frustration. He turns and scans the room again. Dean thinks it's really funny how sometimes Cas' halo sort of shows sometimes. Usually he's a soldier, examining risks and consequences. But sometimes, he comes out with these things that make Dean remember what people usually think of as an angel. Stuff with love and kindness.  
  
"Is that one acceptable?" Cas points across the room and Dean has to look twice because he's pointing at a _guy_. He's attractive in a sort of generic good looking type of way, but he's way too young. Way. Too young and kind of looks like an asshole now that Dean's looking closer. Yeah, a dick. A jock and a dick with his cheekbones and stupid gelled hair and dumbass smile. He's probably the owner of that douchey Porche in the parking lot, too. Dean wants to kick his ass.  
  
"No!" Dean says firmly, and then downs the entire refilled glass of whiskey in one burning go. "No, Cas, he's a dick."  
  
The angel turns to him. "How do you know?"  
  
"Why'd you pick a guy?" Dean says, surprising even himself. Because that's not the issue. The issue here is that guy's douchiness. And how young he is. And how stupid looking.  
  
"Why not?" Castiel frowns and leans in as if something on Dean's face is going to give him a clue as to his mental processes.  
  
"The point of picking up chicks, Cas, is to pick up _chicks_. Not dudes, okay?" And especially not that stupid jock asshole jerk.  
  
"I don't see why you're so against it." Castiel looks back over towards the guy. "I think I've made it clear that perceptions of sexuality are just social constructs. Besides," he adds, turning back to look at Dean, "You said to pick someone that I was attracted to."  
  
Hear that? Yeah, that's the sound of Dean's glass clattering to the bar while he freezes.  
  
Nope. Did not just hear that.  
  
Except he did.  
  
"I don't see what the point of this is," Castiel complains, apparently oblivious to Dean's shock. He taps his fingers irritably on the bar. "I'd rather be saving the bunnies tonight than sitting here while you mock me."  
  
Dean's mouth gapes open as if the words he wants to say are somewhere out there waiting to come swimming onto his tongue.  
  
They don't.  
  
Cas knocks back a shot of vodka. "Can we be done now?"  
  
"Yeah," Dean says roughly. Then he gestures to the bartender and pays him off for another finger of whiskey. He's not nearly drunk enough to process the thoughts that are now chasing each other around his head. "We're done."  
  
It turns out to be a dragon.  
  
With the bunnies, not the douchey Porche guy.  
  
A dragon.  
  
It's a teenaged dragon, actually, which pisses Dean off. It's easy enough to fight old man dragons (easy being subjective), but when he's facing off with a pimple faced kid who should have been delivering pizza, that's where Dean draws the line. It's just too weird. He's even sitting on a pile of iPhones in the basement under the factory. Dean can almost feel sorry for him. It's this part of his job that he hates. Taking down the young and apparently innocent. So the guy likes rabbits and doesn't want to be bothered by angels. That's hardly a crime. This is what Dean thinks before the dragon spots him.  
  
It's up in flames before he has a chance to say anything and roaring towards him. "Leave me alone!" he cries, clothes turning to ash on his molten body.  
  
"Can't do that!" Dean bellows, dodging the kid and stepping on a pile of rabbit guts that squelch under his feet. That's pretty unpleasant. "Didn't your mom teach you to keep your room clean?"  
  
The dragon roars again, flame spilling from its mouth and igniting a couple of broken chairs in the basement. "My mom is dead, you asshole!" He barrels towards Dean, and all Dean can think is that he hopes Sam's gotten those wards down.  
  
"Dean!" Sam yells, breaking into the room, "Can you help me with the angelproofi---woah!" He manages to dodge as the dragon spews fire in his direction. "Dean, what's going on here?!"  
  
"Pissed off baby dragon! What's it look like?!"  
  
This batch of flame catches on a couple of canisters and starts burning alarmingly hot. There's some uncertain popping sounds that crop up and then a few minor explosions that seem to be less explosions and more explosion appetizers. There's a weird smell in the air of burning plastic and chemicals that Dean is pretty sure means they're in bad trouble again. The fire rages higher and hotter than ever and in the midst of it, the dragon is hunting them.  
  
"Sam! Get out of here!" Dean makes a break for the door.  
  
He's only gotta make it through a wall of fire when the dragon rockets out of flames and into him. He sears through Dean's clothes and touching him is like swallowing live coals.  
  
Dean raises his arms to ward it off, but he's too late.  
  
As he burns, all he can think is that he's so damn wrong about how he's been going about this. He should have just accepted everything from the start and just gone for it. Dean's flesh bubbles and burns. His lungs stop working, smoke filling him up inside. And the only thought that screams through his head is that he really would have liked to have made out with Cas before he dies.  
   
Which he does do.  
  
Die, not make out with Cas.


	9. Die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an important conversation and gets over himself. Jimmy Novak reads church-approved porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally a short story. There is one paragraph in here that is almost entirely unchanged since the start of writing all this. I've re-written everything else at least twice, but that paragraph is still there.

**9\. Die.**  
Cas slams into him, clapping a hand over Dean's mouth. His body is as hard as stone-- something Dean remembers from punching him. It's nice, actually, the solid, rough feeling of Cas manhandling him. And not that Dean wouldn't say no, but he recognizes this place. It's the angels' greenroom. This is a memory, he knows, but can't decide if it's a good one or not.  
  
From his coat, Castiel pulls out the now-familiar demon knife. He looks back at Dean, trying to speak without saying a word. There's a whole conversation there, most of which Dean can't follow. A thrill of hope runs up his spine. He has a chance of getting out, of getting to Sam. Maybe this is a good memory. This was the best thing Cas has never said: _I'm on your side_. The knowledge surges through him in triumph.  
  
Cas steps back and drags the knife across his arm. For one wild, weird moment Dean thinks that Cas is gonna feed him angel blood the same way Sam's been getting his from Ruby. The thought nauseates him, but he wonders for a moment what angel blood tastes like. He figures if demon blood is like crack, angel blood's gotta be pie or something. Not that he'd ever try it.  
  
Castiel dips his hand in the blood and begins plastering it over the white wall. He's controlled, specific, and intent. It's efficient and beautiful.  
  
Dean remembers this. This is the first time he'd seen the angel-banishing sigil. "Hey, Cas," he begins, but Zachariah appears. It's just as he remembers. Exactly as he remembers. Cas slamming his hand on the wall and a bright light. And his heart is happily jumping around in his throat. If he can just stop Sammy, they can do this.  
  
They already did (sort of). Years ago.  
  
It's when they get to Chuck's place that Dean realizes what's going on. He's dreaming.  
  
"I'll hold them off," Cas says roughly. White light begins to burn the room and he shouts, "I'll hold them all off!" as he sends Dean away.  
  
 In everything that happened since then, Dean had almost forgotten how he'd kind of admired Cas. He's beautiful. Deadly and wonderful. He's not a hammer, he's a _lightsaber_.  
  
Dean turns to see if he can't make something out of this dream, but finds himself on a porch that he only vaguely remembers. Walking through the door, he's in Jimmy Novak's living room in Pontiac. It's late in the afternoon on a Sunday and sunlight slants lazily over the furniture. Jimmy is curled up in a chair with a book. It might be the Bible, but he looks far too happy for that to be the case. It takes him a moment to notice Dean, but when he does, it's not with any kind of shock. Just a mild surprise.  
  
"Dean," he says, and smiles, and it's so unlike Castiel's smile that Dean doesn't feel any kind of fluttery stomach thing at all. "I didn't expect you."

"Hey," Dean says. He can't remember exactly how he got here, but it's one of those lucid dreams where he knows he's dreaming. Or at least, he thinks he's dreaming. Could be a hallucination.  
  
"Please, sit." There is a pot of warm tea on the table, steam rising from the spout. "It's been a while. I haven't seen you since before I died." Jimmy folds a corner over on the page he's reading and sets the book down. Huh. It was the Bible. The _Married Man's Christian Sex Bible_. Kinky.  
  
Dean does sit, and lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He tries really hard to change Jimmy into Cas (if this really is lucid dreaming, he wants to take advantage of it), but nothing moves. Well. Can't blame a man for trying. Might as well enjoy the ride. "Yeah, few years, huh." He can't think of anything else to say, so he says, "I'm sorry you're dead." Though he's not quite sure how that happened. Maybe when Cas was blown to a million freakin' pieces the first time, Jimmy's soul managed to escape. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.  
  
Jimmy shakes his head. "I'm not." He smiles serenely like a friggin' yoga instructor. Dean has to stop the thought there because the idea of Cas doing yoga makes his brain go blissfully white. "I like it. It's better than being dead without actually dying." Something crosses his face that might be regret. "Did Castiel die when my body did?"  
  
"Nah," Dean says, slumping into the couch. "He's still kicking." The side of Dean's mouth quirks. "He's died a couple more times since then, but he always seems to come back."  
  
Jimmy doesn't say anything, but pours himself a cup of tea.  
  
"Yeah, he, uh, sort of became God for a bit, too." Interesting trivia about Cas doesn't seem to be the right thing to talk about, but he doesn't know what to say to a dead guy who is stubbornly not becoming a  big-breasted lady. "Just be glad you weren't around for that one, man. If you'd been there you mighta gotten chucked into Purgatory. Or maybe eaten by Leviathans." He taps his foot in a nervous tic. "So, not to be mean, but where are all the chicks?" If it's his dream and he can't have Cas, at least he's gonna have some girls.  
  
Jimmy ignores this last question to focus on something Dean wasn't even aware he'd said. "When did you fall in love with him?"  
  
"I didn't!" Dean protests, but he can feel his face heating up. "I just kinda think he's .... badass, okay?" He also thinks Cas is hot, but he's not going to say that to the angel's stunt double.  
  
"Oh!" Jimmy says, far too surprised for Dean to be comfortable with it. "Sorry, I guess I just figured with him dying and all your adventures, you would have finally told him how you feel about him."  
  
Dean glares to the best of his ability.  
  
"Sorry," Jimmy repeats. "It's just, you know, with all the crazy inhuman stuff that went on with my body, I kind of remember the human stuff a little better. It makes sense. Like how Sam was always the one to demand a trip to the laundromat, and how Castiel was always really bad with a cell phone." He rubs a hand through his hair. "The way you look at him is pretty human. Or was. Then." And then, because the only thing they have in common with each other is a rogue angel, Jimmy asks, "So he's okay then?"  
  
"You know, Jimmy, I don't mean to be rude," (actually he does), "but do you care? The last time you came face to face with the guy, it wasn't on the best terms. You said you hated having him in you." Maybe those weren't Jimmy's exact words, but the sentiment had been there.  
  
Jimmy's quiet for a while, letting the steam from his tea rise up and warm his face. "Castiel and I went through a lot." Understatement of the year. "Sometimes I hated him for it. _Most_ of the time I hated him for it. But at some point, he started... being a person instead of a thing living inside me." Jimmy looks down at his hands and the steam curling around his fingers. "It felt like that around you, mostly. And Sam, too. Not that it wasn't hard. But when he was with you, he was sympathizing with humans. Starting to see us from our perspectives."

Dean finds he has nothing to say to this.

  
Jimmy's smile softens. The next words are a bit of a struggle, but he looks Dean in the eye as he says, "I don't know how he really feels about you. I could tell how you felt about him, but angelic emotions are confusing. His feelings are huge and terrifying. I tried to stay away from it because it sort of... it made me feel even less powerful than a soul trapped inside a body with an angel raging under the skin." He looks apologetic.  
  
Dean's insides constrict. "Big and terrifying?" He sits back. "Son of a bitch," he says softly.  
  
"Well, it's not all bad," Jimmy says, smiling wryly. "He wouldn't stick around if he didn't care."  
  
"You didn't see him being God," Dean says sourly. It's a hard thing to remember. Cas betraying him, the way he'd looked when he broke Sam's wall, the expression on Castiel's face when he told them to kneel. He remembers catching the news and instead of the normal horrors of human-on-human violence, he'd known that there was a deranged angel behind the wheel of justice. There are still churches whose stained glass changed from scenes of Jesus to an avenging angel in a tan trenchcoat. Dean knows. He's been to one.  
  
But more than being fake God, Cas _never asked them for help_. Sam was up and kicking, soulless but useful to an angel in need. Dean had been with Lisa and Ben, but of course, _of course_ he would have dropped everything to help out the guy who saved him from hell. And Cas didn't trust them enough to ask for help. Worse-- worse than anything else-- was that Cas didn't tell them the truth. If he'd come out and said that he had a deal with Crowley, they would have helped him get out of it. Or around it. Cas didn't trust him. He kept asking for Dean's faith and he gave nothing back. It hurt. If he'd just--  
  
"Stop thinking so much," Jimmy says, and he gets up from his chair to come over and sit next to Dean on the couch. "I can't read your mind, but I can tell that this is one of those times where your heart's running away with your brain. I've seen you do it before. Stop." Jimmy lays a hand on Dean's forehead, and it feels like a benediction.  
  
Dean is tired, and so _lonely_ , and it feels like it's been so long since someone treated him like something worth saving. In this place, in this dream world Pontiac at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, all his sins are washed away by the memory of Jimmy Novak, ad space salesman from Illinois.  
  
"You're still the Righteous Man," Jimmy says.  
  
"I don't even know what that means," Dean says.  
  
Jimmy leans in. "It means that God loves you for a reason." He kisses Dean, and it's not totally unexpected. He smells like soap, but it's not the soap smell that's been driving Dean crazy.  It's over as quickly as it began, leaving Dean with a vague sensation of chapped lips. It's strange and confusing, and Jimmy looks pleased with himself when he sits back. "Hello, Castiel," he says with an amount of satisfaction.  
  
Cas is standing by the door, blood splashed over his nose and a black eye welling up. His coat is smoking faintly. Dean knows better than to assume that this is any real representation of the damage that's been done to him. But it hurts to look at anyway. "Cas!" he jumps up. "Didn't I tell you to stop coming in my dreams?" Right around the time Dr. Sexy started being an issue, he did. He remembers it clearly.  
  
"You're not dreaming. You're dead. This is Jimmy Novak's heaven." Cas looks over his shoulder as if he expects an army of demons to appear behind him. Or angels. Because, you know, heaven. "We need to go before the angels notice." He glances at Jimmy and then back at Dean. It's surreal to see Cas' face twice and for one crazy moment, Dean thinks he'd really like to be the cream filling in that Oreo.  
  
But his thoughts vanish as Castiel reaches over and touches his forehead-- two bright points of pressure that bring him screaming into wakefulness.  
  
Except he's not exactly waking up. He's coming back to life. It's instant and painful and he kinda sorta hates it. For a moment, his body fights, like it wants to still be dead. But letting it happen is better, and soon he's looking at a blackened ceiling and gasping for air.  
  
"Dean," says Cas, bending over him. There's a tight, angry look to him that Dean can't place. He's cleaned up in the trip back, the blood disappearing and the black eye gone without a trace.  
  
"Wass wrong?" Dean says indistinctly. He hauls himself up to a sitting position, wincing with every movement. Feels like he's been dragged through _Misery_ head first. Everything's raw.  
  
The look disappears as Cas touches Dean's shoulder. Warmth ripples through him and Dean feels as though he's gone through a car wash for people. He's tingling everywhere. The warehouse basement is totally trashed. Scorch marks and charred remnants of forgotten pieces of machinery fill the whole place. It looks like the inside of a fireplace. "Nothing," the angel says after a moment. "Everything is fine."  
  
"Dean!" Sam gets up from where he's been studying the remains of the teenage dragon. "How are you feeling?" He moves over and peers into Dean's eyes like he's had a concussion instead of just having been dead.  
  
"Great," Dean says, before sitting up. There's a great, gaping hole in his t-shirt right over his chest. His jeans are gonners, too. About the only thing salvageable are his boots. Well, that's what you get for fighting dragons. "Mostly great, Sammy. Did you kill it?"  
  
"Cas did. Before he went to get you back from heaven." Sam grins.  
   
"Stop dying," Castiel says, like Dean can do anything about it. And the thing-- the stupid, beautiful thing about Cas is that he still smells like soap. That one soap that Dean can never identify.  
  
"Thanks, Cas." He groans and rubs the back of his neck. "For bringing me back."  
  
Castiel's face breaks into an uncrazy, uncomplicated smile that Dean hasn't seen in years. "I told you. I will not let you fall."  
  
This is the moment, out of everything Dean's done or said or been through, that makes him realize he's been wrong this whole time. He doesn't want to make out with Cas. He can't stomach the thought of trying to be normal, because this is so real it's slapping him in the face. It's not about him or his identity. Jimmy was right.  
  
 _I will not let you fall._  
  
He's in love with Castiel.

 


	10. Get rejected.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean + Cas = Like Normal But Better. It's an action chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Gmail ate chapters 10-12, so it took much longer to edit than usual. You get fake cookies for getting Sam's reference here.

**10\. Get rejected.**  
  
Dragons have _two_ parents.  
  
So when that teenage dragon had said that his mom was dead? Dean probably should have asked about the dad. Preferably before it tore off the roof of the Impala.  
  
Two days after the rabbit factory, Sam's dozing in the passenger seat, and Dean's got the Zep on low as they cruise through Montana. There's a full, bright moon out that shines over fields of snow. It's kinda pretty, and the quiet mood makes Dean think about Jimmy Novak kissing him. It would be different kissing Cas. He knows this without having done it. He wants to find out all the differences between kissing the two of them. Mostly because he just really, _really_ wants to kiss Cas. It's somehow easier to accept now.

But the question is: What next?

Dean's never been very good at what Dean Smith (that asshole) called "Goal-Oriented Personal Advancement." Sure, he's able to plan and carry out ideas to save the world, but he's never really thought about what he wants. Oh, there are immediate wants that can be immediately satisfied-- alcohol, food, sex-- but this feels different. It's not the same as his desire for a family, but it's close. 

Would that even work?

Could they just live on like normal? Would they have a home? What if Dean wants kids? And he does. Oh god, he does. When he thinks about Ben growing up without him, it aches. But Cas can't have his kids. Even if he could, they'd be some kind of deformed angel babies with like three heads or something. Not to mention he has no idea what kind of a parent Cas would be. Not like he had the greatest parenting role model when he was a baby angel. The absurd picture comes into his mind of Cas surrounded by a bunch of scowling babies and a pink apron over his trenchcoat. 

No, it wouldn't be like that. 

They'd have an old farm house somewhere. Maybe they'd get a dog. And a three year old whose favorite things in the world are finger painting and hearing about Daddy and Daddy's adventures. Dean would take a job as a mechanic, and Cas would—

This is where Dean has to stop thinking about everything because if he goes any further it's gonna be all "Mr. and Mrs. Castiel Angel of Thursday," and he'd rather give up Dr. Sexy forever than turn into a thirteen year old girl.  
  
The sex, yeah, he's kind of mostly okay thinking about that bit.  
  
Really? He just wants to be with Cas. That would be good. Dean + Cas = Like Normal But Better. That's it. Simple math. And maybe one day they'd figure out how to make the world safe enough that Dean would be okay having kids. Whether or not Cas is someone he wants to settle with (yes) is less important than Dean making sure that his future kids are secure.

But if it happens, they can adopt. Would anyone let an angel adopt?

He's just about to wake Sam up to ask him when thick bronze claws come crashing through the back window.  
  
Dean veers to the right and Sam startles awake as the claws drag the whole roof off the car. "What's ... _oh my god_!" Sam looks up, mouth open.

Dean follows his gaze to see the underbelly of an enormous dragon. The thing is maybe thirty feet long with scales as big as Dean's hand. It carries off the roof of the Impala and drops it with a crash in the middle of the road. Dean hits the breaks but hears several unhappy crunches as he can't avoid hitting the twisted metal and broken glass.  
  
The dragon whirls around, all of its bronze body going red with heat. It doesn't look anything like a person-- it's a dragon that wouldn't be out of place at a D&D convention. Not that Dean's ever been to one. And he's certainly not going to start now.  
  
Sam hops out and goes for the trunk. Nothing in there is gonna help, as there are still a dearth of dragon-slaying swords lying around for every hunter to pick up when they want to. Dean sends a quick prayer to Cas as he goes to join his brother, but something in the dragon's throat is already clacking and moving. A river of white-hot flame pours from its mouth and smashes into the Impala. They can hear the metal warping under the heat.  
  
"Run?!" Dean asks.  
  
"Run!" Sam says.  
  
So they do. It's probably futile but they make a break across the field next to the road, heading towards a lonely stand of trees. The snow makes it hard going, and the ice makes it even worse. They barely make it a few steps when that clacking, choking sound starts up again. And Dean can feel the heat-- actually _feel_ it building up inside the dragon's body.  
  
This is when Cas shows up.  
  
It's an honest to god Gandalf moment where Sam and Dean are scrambling to get away from the dragon and Cas stands in the center of the fire, breaking the stream with some kind of sigil he's cut out of his arms. This does not mean that the Winchesters stop running. Nope. No way. They keep going until they're a good way out into the field and the dragon is a big ball of flame exploding over Castiel's tiny form.  
  
"What. The hell." Sam says. He's bent over panting, his breath making smoke signals in the air.  
  
"Cas is fighting a dragon," Dean offers because this is the only thing that matters. The dragon seems to have lost interest in chasing either of the brothers, in favor of toasting Castiel's wings. The funny thing is, it's not over quickly. Only it's not funny because this is _Cas_. They watch for what feels like hours as Cas disappears and appears to attack the dragon, only to be repelled by another belch of fire.  Dean grits his teeth. "I'm gonna help him."  
  
" _How?_ "  
  
It's a good question.

"Distract it," Dean says finally. He has this idea that maybe Cas can get in and kill it if they somehow attract its attention elsewhere, but he's not sure if it will work. Hah. "Maybe it Will Work" is the Winchester family's unofficial motto (the official one being a little too hopeful for this situation). He flat out runs towards the fight, ignoring his instincts to put as much distance between himself and the dragon as possible. Hunters are good at that, but it's always a bit of a struggle at first. Hopeless battles are kind of like that.  
  
"Hey!" he shouts at the mass of the dragon's bulk overhead, "Hey! Asshole!" He picks up a rock from the side of the road and throws it. Might have been a marshmallow for all the good it does. It fell harmlessly off the dragon's side without even earning its attention.  
  
Cas appears behind the dragon's head, straddling its back as if he's riding the damn thing. There are great shadows extending behind him to block the stars. Dean thinks those are are his wings. It's also the coolest thing Dean's ever seen Cas do. His angel blade is out, flashing red in the light of the fire. It's making the dragon angry, but it's not doing anything to seriously hurt it.  
  
The dragon ducks its head and shakes. As Cas loses his grip and falls, the dragon snakes its head out and grabs the angel between two rows of teeth. 

"CAS!" Dean bellows.  
  
"HEY!" And there's Sam beside him with the Impala's rear-view mirror. He throws the mirror at the dragon, hitting it in the nostril. The dragon snorts and crunches down on Cas. Crunches. Dean can hear his bones from this far away. It makes him feel sick. "HEY, YOU! DRACARYS!" he shouts. And WOW, Dean is going to have to cut back on his TV time because he actually _gets_ that reference.  
  
Dean doesn't know how this is supposed to help, but the dragon opens its mouth and lets out a grating sound. It's a moment before Dean realizes that's probably laughter.  
  
Cas appears by Dean's side, panting and bleeding. "Dean, you need to run. You and Sam need to get out of here." Jesus, he really _is_ bleeding.  
  
"No, Cas, I'm stickin' with you. Better with three, right?"  
  
The angel looks frustrated. "Dean! The dragon is more than capable of killing _me_. You need to run!" The dragon snaps at Sam, who ducks behind the flaming wreck of the Impala.  
  
Dean looks at him. What an idiot. Cas is lucky that Dean likes him so much. "That's why we're staying," he says.  
  
Cas gives him a disgruntled look and disappears, reappearing to fight the dragon again, but even Dean can see it's hopeless. Somewhere in the charred rubble of the car, he manages to pull out a shotgun which does absolutely nothing when fired directly at the dragon. Even Sam's increasingly geeky insults and well-thrown debris don't distract it. It's only a few moments before Dean realizes it's toying with them. Once he sees it, it's painfully obvious. It's also painfully obvious that Castiel is the target. The dragon pretends to be hurt while slowly luring Cas closer to its mouth. It's less than a minute before it snaps, closing its jaws around Cas' body again.  
  
It's only when the dragon has Cas firmly in its jaws that it makes a move against Sam. By stepping on him.  
  
Dean's heart plummets.

And then something ridiculously cool happens.

It's like one of those paintings Dean's only seen in comic book shops and on the sides of nerds' vans. Gabriel slides out of nowhere, wings out and blazing with a white light that puts the firelight to shame. The little angel and the big dragon. His wings hurt to look at. Dean can even see the dragon blinking and backing up. Then Gabriel pulls out his sword. Which is, apparently, on fire. Also, it's about two feet longer than Dean remembers it.  
  
There's no hilarious quips, no jokes, just a simple slice that takes off the foot that was pushing Sam to the ground. As the dragon cries out in pain, his jaw drops open and Cas rolls out. But nothing distracts Gabriel from his mission. He runs up under the dragon's belly and slices him from stomach to jaw. The amount of blood that pours out is staggering. It's like a freakin' flood. If the Impala hadn't already been ripped up and charred beyond recognition, it would have been completely lost under the deluge. Gabriel's lost from sight under the wash of red. 

Dean only hesitates for a moment before bolting towards where he last saw his brother. But then the sawed-off dragon leg is moving and Sam's standing up looking like he took a bath in dragon guts. Which, to be fair, he sort of did.  
  
"Sam? You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, Dean." Sam spits out a mouthful of blood and then reaches behind his head to rub his neck. "I'm fine. Except for..." He looks down at his ruined clothes. And then over at the husk of the Impala. "I'm fine,"  he repeats a little more firmly. "Cas?"  
  
"I am also fine," Castiel says, but it's pretty apparent he's not. His clothes are torn to shreds and there is a gaping hole-- an actual gaping hole-- that goes clean through his side. Dean tries not to look at it, but it's hard not to stare. He glares at Dean pretty ineffectively. "You should have run. You had no hope of killing him, and you were getting in my way."  
  
Dean's jaw clenches, but before he has the chance to say anything, Gabriel walks over as clean as if he just stepped out of a department store. "Nice job luring him out, boys!" Without even looking, he reaches over and touches Sam's shoulder. "I was starting to get worried that I'd have to wait a hundred years until he came out of his den."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Sam isn't on edge around Gabriel, and that's probably as much gratitude as Gabriel's ever gonna get from the youngest Winchester.  
  
"Who do you think sent good old Castiel to flush out Puff the Magic Junior?" Gabriel's grin would be a lot more infectious if it wasn't so evil. "Mess with the baby and eventually the parents'll come out to get you. I killed the female a few years back, but Daddy was a lot harder to find. That's the thing about dragons. They're pretty clever." 

"Wait, what?!" And there's the edge again as Sam goes from calm to furious in half a second. "This was all your fault?"

"Technically it's all the _dragon's_ fault," Gabriel says unhelpfully.

"What, was he a douchey dragon? Is that why he deserves your attention?"  
  
Gabriel looks shifty. But then again he always does. "Let's just say I owed Kali."  
  
"And now you owe us!" Dean insists. "Cas almost died!" _So did Sam_ , he forgets to say.  
  
Gabriel regards them for a minute and then snaps his fingers. The dragon carcass and all residual fires disappear. The Impala looks as though it's just fallen off the assembly line. "And what would you like in return, Cas?"  
  
The angel frowns at _Dean_ of all things, like he's asking for help picking out what he wants from his brother. "Nothing," he says suspiciously.  
  
Gabriel's smile widens. "How about a milkshake, buddy? Me and Sammy'll go get you one." 

"No," Sam and Cas say at the same time, but it's too late. Gabriel snaps his fingers and he disappears with Sam, presumably to fetch milkshakes.  
  
Dean rubs his hands over his face. Maybe it's time to stop for the night anyway. Then he looks over at Cas, who is staring at the starry sky in frustration. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it at the time, but that had been close. Really close. Too close. He knows what it's like to fight a losing battle, but it seems particularly unfair of him to have to fight a hopeless battle just so Gabriel can step in and kick ass. It's also unfair to watch Cas nearly die right after Dean's gotten his head out of his ass.

As much as he still wants to cling to what they have instead of what they might have, he makes a decision. "Cas?"  
  
"Yes, Dean?" The angel's expression is indistinct despite the clear moonlight.  
  
"Do you wanna... go to dinner sometime?" That is probably the worst pickup line he's ever used. Because it's not even a line so much as it is a sentence. He's losing his game here in the face of someone that he loves.  
  
"I don't have to--"  
  
"--eat, I know. What I'm saying is, do you wanna go on a date?"  
  
For a moment, Dean thinks Cas is going to ask _With who?_ or _Why?_ or something equally dense. Instead, Cas says, "With you."  
  
He gets it. Castiel, Angel of Social Awkwardness, actually _gets_ it. "Yeah," Dean says, his heart in his throat like it was the first time he met Cassie and the last time he met Lisa. Somehow this is just as important. More important, maybe. "I'd like to take you out. For dinner." He's sweating now. He didn't sweat when the damn _dragon_ was chasing him! What the hell?! And does Cas have to stare at him like that? Okay, so maybe Cas stares at him like that all the time, but he really doesn't _have_ to. "That one douchebag-- you said you were attracted to him, and since we couldn't find any chicks for you, I just thought hey- what about me? I wouldn't mind going on a date with you." Which is such a lie that it comes easily out of his mouth. He's so used to lying that it's more familiar than the truth. Especially in cases like this when actual feelings are on the line.  
  
Cas is staring at him, and Dean knows you can't see color at night, but he could swear he sees the blue in Cas' eyes. 

"Whaddya say?" Dean wants to kiss him now-- skip all the rest and lean in and just go for it. He's prepared to explain what a date is. He's prepared to talk human mating rituals. He's even prepared to correct what he said before and tell Cas the truth.  
  
What he's not prepared for is the single word that comes out of Castiel's mouth.  
  
"No."

 

 


	11. Fight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's an idiot. Cas is even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have overestimated Dean's sex appeal, but somehow I don't think so.

**11\. Fight.**

  
Dean's response to rejection is the same as always: sex binge.  
  
The only real place to go on a sex binge is in Vegas, of course. But since there have been some ghost-related murders in Colorado, Dean has to make do with the lovely ladies of UC Boulder. Nothing like drunk college girls to soothe wounded pride.  
  
It's his pride that's hurt, he tells himself while sucking face with a really sweet brunette outside a vegan restaurant (which _she_ had been in, not _him_ ). It's pride because he refuses to think it might be anything else. She's got her gloved hands wound up in his coat and her little yoga-slim body pressed up against him. And yeah, it's nice, but it's not great. Nothing's great. Not even that threesome he had the night before. So he just kisses her because it's better than thinking about Cas and the worst word in the world.  
  
He doesn't think about it.  
  
But it follows him like his own personal ghost. He thinks about it all the damn time. The icy road, the big ass moon and Cas looking at him-- telling Dean that he didn't even want to try.  
  
It had gone something like this:  
  
"No," Cas had said.  
  
And the world had exploded.  
  
"I don't want to date you, Dean," Cas had added, just in case there was any hope left that he hadn't squashed yet.  
  
It's not like Dean's never been turned down before, because he has. Plenty of times. But to be turned down by probably your best friend (next to your brother) is worse.  
  
Lisa had rejected him. They'd tried, though. They really had. Cassie had rejected him, too, but he'd always known that maybe that wouldn't work out. The big difference here was that Dean had never depended on Lisa or Cassie for survival. Neither Lisa nor Cassie had ever rescued him from hell and from heaven. They hadn't abandoned their families because they believed in Dean. No one but Cas had been Dean's ally when even Sam had been sucking down demon blood.  
  
Maybe Cas isn't perfect. Maybe he sucked as a soldier of God and sucked even more pretending to _be_ God. Maybe Cas had gone to the wrong person for help, and maybe he was really stupid about what a friendship is supposed to be, but Cas did what he felt was right. He did everything because Dean guided him towards free will. Because of his trust in Dean, Cas had changed his life. Cas is now a different angel because of Dean.  
  
That's not something he can say for anyone else.  
  
But maybe that's the problem. If Cas secretly dislikes him because of all Dean took from him-- "I got a room," Dean says automatically to the brunette after he pulls back. "Wanna join me?" He doesn't like thinking about it, so he won't.

"Sure," she says cheerfully, cheeks flushed from more than just cold. 

He doesn't talk on the drive back to the motel. He lets her talk about her family and friends and her major. The words wash over him without making an impact. He wants a hunt. Something with blood and salt and iron will take his mind off things. It always has. Dean's whole world is tied up in hunting, in hunters' knowledge, and that's the only thing that will help him forget.  
  
When they get to the motel, Dean nods to the girl. "Hang on a sec, okay? I gotta see if my brother's in there and kick him out."  
  
"Okay." She grins at him and leans over for a kiss which he gives automatically.  
  
The lights are on in the room, which means Sam's there. He's not going to be happy (he hasn't been happy about the last fifteen, either), but Dean needs this. And Sam, grumpy as he is about Dean's sex life, understands to a certain extent. He'd made a sarcastic comment about the first one, but then let the matter drop. It was surprisingly decent of him.  
  
But Dean walks through the motel room door and finds-- not Sam hunched over his computer-- but Cas, sitting in a chair and talking to his brother. It's pretty clear that they're talking about _him_ , because they stop when he enters. Sam looks vaguely guilty, and Cas clenches the fabric of Jimmy's pants in his hands. He looks like a thunderstorm, anger boiling just under the surface.  
  
Well two can play at that game. Dean's anger rises in his throat. So Cas thinks he can go behind Dean's back and gossip about him? _With his own brother?_ Dean swallows, jaw clenching.  
  
"Dean," Sam says. "We were just..." he looks over at Cas, searching for a blatant lie, "....talking about that ghost. Cas thinks maybe it's being... controlled by witches. Right, Cas?"  
  
The angel frowns in concentration. "Is this one of those times where I need to lie to get what I want?"  
  
"Yes," Sam says with a sigh. He rubs one hand over his face.  
  
"There are witches controlling a ghost, Dean," Cas says flatly.  
  
Dean should laugh. Or should yell at Cas for sucking at being human. Instead, he just grunts, anger rising in him. "I need the room," he says to Sam, trying not to look at, or think about, or talk to Cas. "There's a girl--" And he's cut off because he _does_ look and the angel's whole face crumples into fury. "Stop that, Cas," Dean snaps.  
  
"Stop what, Dean?" His tone is childishly sulky.   
  
"Stop looking at me like that. You don't get to tell me what to do."  Dean throws his keys on the bed. "And I'm gonna go out there, get that girl, and--"  
  
"Do you even know her name?" Cas stands up. "Do you know _anything_ about her, Dean?" His mouth tightens, the lines around his eyes growing deeper.  
  
He has no right. Cas has _no right_ to be angry! There's nothing between them. If Dean wants to go out and screw a million girls, he's gonna do just that. There's no one in the world who can stop him. Cas has no right to insist on controlling Dean's love life. Especially if he doesn't want to be a part of it.  "Don't start with me me," Dean grinds out. "I _did_ check to see if she was a demon!"  
  
"You check to see if she's a demon-- you _always_ check-- but you never, never stop to think that maybe demons aren't the only things that can hurt you!"  
  
"Oh I know, Cas! I can get hurt by a lot of other things." Dean's focused and on fire with anger. "Ghosts. Werewolves. Smaug. Angels."  
  
"I don't know why you keep making references to things I don't know!" Cas says so loudly that he's almost yelling. "And I don't know why you are so eager to be intimate with a stranger! You're not even looking for compatibility, you're simply sating animal lusts!"  
  
"Yeah, Cas, I am." Dean can feel the flush filling his cheeks. "I don't need to know everyone that I sleep with!"  
  
"You don't even know her name!"  
  
He doesn't, but he lies. "It's Rachel, you dick!"  
  
"It's _Alice_ ," Cas counters, and now he's right up in Dean's face, the ozone smell growing stronger and eclipsing that faint soapy scent. "You don't care about them. _They_ don't care about _you_."  
  
"Oh, what-- so you want me to go out and find some chick that I've known for a million years who somehow actually doesn't give a crap about me being a hunter, huh? Is that what you want for me, Cas?! Some amazing girl who _doesn't exist_?!"  
  
"No!" Cas is vibrating with suppressed anger. "I want you to be with someone who _loves_ you!"  
  
"What, like _you_?" Dean bites out sarcastically.  
  
"YES!" Cas explodes, the flare of his wings a dark shadow against the far wall of the room.  
  
Dean freezes.  
  
Castiel's face goes from angry to shocked in a matter of two seconds. He's like a wild animal who has just been trapped. Or hit by a car.  "Dean, I..." he says, and then vanishes with a faint sound.  
  
Dean stares at the space that now seems like an angel-shaped hole in the world. What. The hell. Was that?  
  
"So," Sam says, from where he's been sitting, watching the whole thing fall apart, "did you still want the room tonight?"  
  
After hearing something like that?  
  
Dean starts breathing again. "No, Sam. I don't think I do."

 


	12. Man up and be a girl.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is such a girl. But at least he gets the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet comments as I wrote and edited this fic. TaraFarrago was my awesome beta for much of this, and transformed a mediocre story into something I'm proud of. A special shoutout to my wonderful emergency beta Dapperscript for helping me out with the last chapter on such short notice.

**12\. Man up and be a girl.**  
  
Dean takes a day to think about it. A day in which Sam tries to ask about his super gay angel romance no less than fifteen times. Fifteen. On the last try, Dean finally says, "Sam, if you ask me one more time, I am going to pull this car over and call Lucifer using your jugular.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes. "Dean, you owe me."  
  
"Owe you? For _what_?"  
  
"Enduring your gay crisis," Sam says with a self-satisfied smile. "And the fallout."  
  
Dean has to give him that. Considering the options available, Sam has been pretty understanding. He can even use the words “gay crisis” in reference to his brother without stuttering any more. But somehow, Dean feels like Sam’s been getting a free show while he's been suffering through all this. Still. It's _Sam_. "I asked Cas on a date." Dean doesn't look at his brother because he knows that asshole's gonna be smiling like a kid at Christmas.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Turned me down," Dean says, risking a glance. Well, maybe Sam isn’t the diabolical douchebag that he was imagining. He’s only slightly concerned. "And then he had the balls to... well, you were there."  
  
Sam nods. "When are you going to talk to him?"  
  
Dean shrugs and flicks his eyebrows. "I don't know. Never."

"Dean," Sam begins, but stops. When he begins again, it's with a low tone like they're kids again, keeping secrets from Dad. "He's your best friend. And he just admitted that he loves you." Sam wiggles in his seatbelt to turn and stare at Dean in a way that would panic a traffic cop considering the icy conditions. "What if he really didn’t mean to turn you down?"  
  
Dean grips the steering wheel tighter. "He was pretty clear on that point, Sammy."  
  
"Well, then, maybe you asked him wrong, Dean," Sam says with an amount of frustration. "He looks at you like you're the last ark out of the flood. Even _Gabriel_ thinks it isn't a hopeless cause."  
  
"What the hell do you want me to do, then?"  
  
"I want you to man up." Dean opens his mouth to interrupt (because everyone knows he’s the manliest Winchester), but Sam continues, "I want you to ask him how he feels about you. And I want you to apologize to him about all those girls you screwed just because an angel wouldn't go to dinner with you."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
"Stop that," Sam says. "Just _talk_ to him."  
  
Dean hates taking advice from Sam. Hates it. He's the older brother, and he's the one who's supposed to dish out the how-to lectures (Sam’s lecture apparently would be titled _How to Date an Angel in 12 Easy Steps_ and would involve everything from feelings to talking) _._ But as much as he hates taking Sam's advice, he knows his brother is right.

He has to have a girl-to-girl chat with Cas.  
  
They stop early that night because big, fat flakes start pouring out of the sky as they get closer to the Tri-Lakes district. The radio announces a freak storm, and since Dean isn't risking anyone's lives (his, Sam's, or the Impala's), they pull over into a little motel that seems to be mermaid themed. Mermaids. In Colorado. Because there’s so much salt water there. Dean’s decided to take Sam’s advice, but he’s not gonna let him know that he will. He announces that he's going out for a beer once Sam's settled in with booze and research.  
  
Outside, it's cold, but not unbearably so. Mostly, it’s damp. Dean zips up his jacket and goes to sit on the Impala’s trunk. It’s sorta burning cold at first, but his ass goes numb in no time, so it doesn’t matter. Then, folding his hands, he prays. "Cas. We gotta talk."  
  
There’s silence broken only by the swish of cars passing slowly by on the icy road.  
  
"Cas, come on.” It has occurred to him that Cas might be embarrassed, so he does his best in a one-sided conversation to smooth it over. “Look, everyone does stupid stuff at one time or another. And maybe you do embarrassing things more than most people, but that doesn’t mean you can flap off and hide from me forever."  
  
Dean looks up at the sky and a puffy snowflake falls onto his eyelash. He spends about .3 seconds wiping it off and then 108 seconds waiting for Cas to show up. He knows because he counts them.  
  
"I'm gonna just keep prayin', man," Dean says to the empty air.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"All right," Dean says, hands still folded. “But don’t blame me if this gets stuck in your head.” Then he starts singing _Simple_ _Man_. He gets as far as, "Be something you love and understand…" when he’s interrupted.  
  
"You're off key," someone says from behind him. Dean turns and it’s Cas, staring at him seriously while snow falls on his shoulders. Maybe if he was human, he would have had bleary eyes from lack of sleep, but instead his tie is just twisted around backwards and the second button of his shirt is undone. Angelic slobbery. " _Very_ off key."  
  
"Shut up," Dean says, patting the trunk next to him. "Come here."  
  
Cas climbs up and perches next to him, breath billowing warm in the cool air. It takes him a while to settle. He looks like some kind of cranky bird who keeps shifting around on its branch. It would be cute if it wasn’t so damn annoying. Finally, Cas makes up his mind and turns to face Dean instead of staring out into the snowy air.  
  
Dean looks down at his hands and then over at some of the cars parked across the way. The cranky bird wins this staring contest. "So, uh, what was all that about?" He glances over at Cas briefly before fixing his gaze on a street lamp that’s been turned on at 4pm due to the weather. "With the... what you said to me." He pauses, and when Cas fails to answer, he continues, “At the motel. Yesterday.”  
  
Cas looks away and actually lets out a shaky breath that blooms into the cold. His hands curl up on his knees.  
  
With a sudden realization, Dean sits up straighter. "You're nervous!"  
  
Cas scowls.  
  
"Christ, Cas, just..." Dean laughs suddenly. "With all we've been through, you're nervous about _this_? _Really_?" Something tightly wound up inside him starts to come loose. He supposes that’s what people mean by emotional constipation. Well, as long as it’s not followed by feelings diarrhea, he’s good. "Hell. Purgatory. And _feelings_."  
  
"It's a strange and confusing world," Cas says.

Dean can't tell if this is sarcasm, but he laughs again. So maybe it’s not so bad that Dean feels like his heart is beating a little faster, too. "Why did you turn me down? For that date, I mean."  
  
Cas shifts around again and his face goes from scowly to uncomfortable, which is probably a good sign. "Because I don't want to date you."  
  
Gee, Cas. Poke it when it bleeds, why don’t you? Dean settles for an eye roll instead of letting on how much it still bothers him. "Yeah, I got that," he says. "But why not?"  
  
The angel's silent for a few moments and Dean looks up to see snowflakes melting in his hair to leave little clinging drops of water. It's pretty. Cas is pretty. Or sexy. A man can be both. Especially if he’s an angel. "I know how you date," Cas says at last. His eyes move down to the space between their knees, then he looks up again. His expression is strained. "I don't want to be Alice."  
  
"Who?" Dean asks.  
  
"The girl from last night," Cas says.  
  
And Dean realizes with a shock what he means. Dean has sex so casually, sees women so frequently that they don’t even leave an impression. Cas thought Dean had been asking him to be another one in a long line of forgettable people. For the first time in a long while, he feels a rush of shame. He hasn't felt bad about sex since he was a kid, but knowing that Cas was watching him and disapproving makes Dean feel _wrong_. He lets out a low curse and rubs a hand over his face.  
  
Cas watches him as if looking for answers, but Dean doesn't think he has any.  
  
"You said you love me," Dean says after a moment.  
  
Castiel's face clears, and there's a soft expression on his face. It's more Jimmy than Cas-- more human than angel. "Yes."  
  
"Like God loves everyone," Dean states with a sinking feeling.  
  
"No," Cas says. He ducks his head and rubs his neck like a shy kid.

Dean is going to die. He’s going to sit there and die because Cas is bad at words and talking and being a person.

Then a miracle happens.

Cas says, "I'm in love with you."  
  
Dean's breath catches in his throat. "What?" he manages to croak.  
  
Castiel shifts and the car moves under them. "Ever since I saw your soul in hell, I have loved you. It's only recently that I've begun to understand what kind of love it is."  
  
Dean opens his mouth, but his brain and his tongue have a disagreement which ends in silence.  
  
"When I first laid hand on you in hell, I was lost." Cas’ voice is the same tone as ever. It’s hard to read a guy when he pretty much only has three facial expressions. "Hester was wrong about some things, but she was right about that. I wasn’t corrupted, but I was changed forever, Dean. Because of you." His eyes are the same blue left behind your eyes after you look at lightning. "Because of my love for you, my entire existence is different.” Cas takes a deep breath that he doesn’t need. “And that is why I won't date you."  
  
"You're an idiot," Dean breathes. And then, " _I'm_ an idiot."  
  
Cas looks at him, waiting for an explanation.  
  
This is when Dean kisses him.  
  
Dean was right. It’s nothing like kissing Jimmy. Cas’ lips are soft and warm, and the press against Dean’s mouth makes his heartbeat speed up until it’s purring like his baby’s engine. Cas smells more like soap than ozone, and there’s a slight rasp of the angel’s stubble against his.

It’s the best kiss Dean’s ever had.

When he pulls back, Cas lets out a puff of held air that Dean automatically breathes in.     
"I don't date them. Girls, I mean. I dated Lisa, but I don't date those girls you're thinking of. That's not what a date is," Dean says when he pulls back to get a little air. He lifts one cold hand and touches the dark hair just over Cas' temple. It's damp with snow and sticky with hair gel. Dean couldn't be happier. "Dates are trials. Tests. You're figuring out what you actually want from someone. Friendship, or something else. That’s why I wanna date you, Cas. To find out what I want. What you want."

"I know what I want," Cas says simply.  
  
"And what's that?" Dean lets his hand fall until it’s resting on the side of Castiel’s neck.  
  
"For everything to be normal," Cas says. "But better." He leans into the touch.  
  
Dean grins and kisses him again. This time, the angel puts his skills (borrowed from porn) to work, pushing against Dean and hungrily going for his mouth. There's lots of tongue involved, and Dean's reminded of Cas pushing Meg up against a wall and devouring her. The first spark of jealousy at the memory is swallowed up by a deep feeling of arousal. As nice as it is, it's kind of a shock, and when Cas comes up for air, Dean says, "Dude. By ‘better’ do you mean ‘sex’?”  
  
"Yes, lots," Cas says. “Preferably for a long time,” he adds before initiating a third kiss that ends up between the awkwardness of the first and the overkill of the second. He looks thoughtful when they pull apart. A small smile hovers at the corners of his mouth. Dean's reminded of that day, a long time ago, when Cas had marveled at his father's creations. "What do you want, Dean?"  
  
"I don't know." Dean lets his hand fall from Castiel's neck. "Just you, I guess."

Cas slides closer and Dean shivers where snowfall presses up against his thigh. "It's uncertain, isn't it?"  
  
"What is?"  
  
“Love between humans. It doesn’t always stay the same."  
  
"Usually not," Dean says. "That’s the fun part, Cas. Finding out if it does." He moves even closer, and their thighs press together. It’s a little wet, but it feels right. He lets his hand fall next to Castiel’s and their fingers touch just enough that it’s still manly. And he doesn’t say a _word_ about the thoughts he’s been having about Cas and him and the future. “But this isn’t love between humans. It’s a freaky interspecies romance. It’s new. You never know what’s gonna happen.”  
  
The soft smile turns into a big one, Cas is smiling like he's finally got the hang of it. "Since I am an angel and have traveled rather extensively in time, I _do_ know what's going to happen next," he says.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Cas leans in as if telling him a secret. "You're going to take me on a date."  
  
Dean howls with laughter. He's cold and wet and happy like he can't remember being for the longest time. No, he doesn’t know what’s gonna happen in the future. And yes, he does know how Sam’s going to gloat. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that right now he’s in love, and the most amazing angel in the universe loves him back. When he stops laughing, he wraps his arm around Cas' shoulders and hugs him close as the snow falls around them. "Yeah, man. I am." He slides off the trunk and holds out a hand.  
  
Cas takes it and doesn't even let go when he hits the ground.


End file.
